


He's Leaving Home

by RingosLiverpool8



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, mild child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 51,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6943519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RingosLiverpool8/pseuds/RingosLiverpool8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Paul left before The Beatles were even The Beatles? It's a modern AU where Paul's mother dies giving birth to Mike and Jim blames Mike for her death. Paul takes beatings from him (I don't actually think of Jim McCartney in this way at all) in order to keep him off Mike. Paul had just gotten in a relationship with John, but will Paul's mistake keep them apart or will they find each other again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Um, well, McLennon. I'm still working with this. It's just and idea I had. I don't own The Beatles.

_Present_

“I think you might actually be pregnant.”

“Shut up, John. I really don’t need this right now.” Paul paced the ground, thinking. He’d have to tell John sooner or later and while later seemed like the most attractive idea, it wasn’t what Paul had the luxury to choose. He’d been John’s best friend, and Paul John’s. Paul just knew this one conversation would ruin their budding relationship. John was about to hate him.

John couldn’t stand it when Paul acted all moody and dramatic. Although these moods were rare, John just didn’t want to deal with it. He could tell something was definitely bothering him this time, though. Paul called John over here to talk. He’d hoped that they’d talk about the music. But it seems that it’s not the case.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” John spat at Paul’s pacing. Paul stopped and looked at John, noticeable fire burning in his eyes. John knew Paul’d finally tell him what’s wrong. He’d seen that look too many times before.

“John,” Paul’s voice faltered slightly while also calming down, “I’m leaving the band.” Paul turned so his back faced John. He just couldn’t look at him.

John burst out in laughter. “Sure you are, Macca.”

“John, please don’t make this harder on me. I’m going to school. To be a teacher.” Paul pleaded. He still couldn’t look at John.

“We are going to make it big, Paul. You won’t need a proper job.” John reasoned. _There’s no way Paul’s really leaving. He can’t._ John thought, trying to assuage this feeling of dread.

“My da’s made it pretty clear that I need a proper job.” Paul finally turned back to face John, who, as Paul guessed, was fuming.

“Sod your dad, mate! Since when do you care what he thinks?” John yelled, “Where is he anyway? I think I want a word with him.”

“He’s not here, John.” Paul answered in a small voice. Paul’s heart broke into a thousand pieces as the light of hatred sparked to life in John’s wise brown eyes. _Maybe making John hate me will make this easier,_ Paul confessed to himself.

“You don’t need to listen to your old man, Paul!”

Paul regretted saying his next statement but he knew it would push John over the edge. “How would you know, John, hm? Oh that’s right, you don’t. Your father left you.” Paul’s heart sank as John processed what he’d said. “Just get out, John.” With his final statement, Paul’s best friend -or former best friend- slammed the door to Paul’s father’s house, leaving Paul alone to just let his emotions out.

He felt angry, angry at his father, angry at John, angry at himself. It was his fault this was even happening. He had to end it all, because he, and he alone, had held that knife in his hand.

****

_Two Days Before_

“Dad! Mike! I’m home.” Paul announced to a quiet house. When he didn’t receive an answer, he shrugged his shoulders. He made his way up the stairs to his shared bedroom with his little brother, Mike. He found the door locked.

“Hey, Mike, it’s me. Why’ve you got the door locked?” Paul heard the door click and he pulled the door open to see Mike sitting on his bed in the dark. “What’re you doing sitting in the dark?” Paul wondered incredulously. He flipped on the lights. As he did that Mike flopped face down on the mattress.

Paul chuckled. “Come on, now. I have homework.” He pushed Mike over and the smile fell from his face. “Where is he?” Paul instantly regretted going to band practice. Paul had done so well keeping their dad from hitting Mike. Mike is ten years younger than him. Their mother died giving birth to Mike which is when their dad began to change. Paul realized that their dad held Mike responsible for her death and thus he never took care of him. It’s always been up to Paul. He’d been Mike’s dad more than their actual dad.

It wasn’t until Mike turned three that the beatings began. Paul had seen their father take a cane to Mike once and he tried to push his father away. In doing so, he got the cane in place of Mike. It, as Paul reasoned, was a better alternative than him hitting Mike. From then on, Mike tried to please and gain the respect of their father but to no avail. Paul had taken many beatings to keep him safe. He thought it would be fine if he went out a few times. After all, he did deserve to have friends.

“Don’t Paul.” Mike whimpered from the pillow.

“Where is he, Mike?” Paul said again.

Mike’s teary eyes met Paul fiery ones. “Downstairs. In the kitchen.”

“Lock the door when I leave. Don’t even _think_ about coming out until I come get you.” Paul ordered. Mike only nodded.

“If you come back…” Mike said to the closing door. He stood up locking the door behind his brother.

Paul stormed downstairs to the kitchen where his father was passed out. Paul slammed his hands down on the table, hard enough to wake up his father. His hands stung for a minute, but he knew that was the least of his troubles. His father was awake and angry.

Paul kept eye contact with him. “Why’d you hit him, huh? It’s been seven years, Dad! It’s not Mike’s fault, if anything it’s yours!”

His father stood up, steaming with anger. Paul didn’t think he could move fast and underestimated what his father could do. A fist connected with Paul’s right cheek. Paul stumbled backwards, shocked by the force of the punch. Paul collected himself and launched at his father, rapidly swinging his arms in inexperienced punches. Paul’s father easily grabbed him and slammed him up against the kitchen counter. Paul felt his nose bleed as another swing came at his face. Strong hands wrapped around his throat and squeezed. Paul frantically searched behind him. He grabbed the closest thing to his hand and shoved it forward. The pressure on his larynx subsided and Paul’s father fell to the floor in a groan. The knife Paul plunged into his father’s side stuck out and all he could do was stare at it. He knew what to do next. He should be calling for help. He decided it was in his best interest to pull the knife out, because, deep down Paul knew he could get away with it. It was self-defense after all.

Paul skirted around the groaning, dying figure of his father to call the police. “Yes? Hello? Please help. My father attacked me and my brother and…and…and I’ve…I’ve stabbed him. I don’t know what to do. My face is bleeding and my brother is crying. Please…”

              _Stay calm, where are you?_

“985 Lilly Dr. Please… I can’t do this…” Paul pleaded, ignoring the dark thoughts creeping into his heart and mind. He let the panic cover them up. He thought about how he’d have to take care of Mike or that they’ll be separated. Paul started to sob on the phone.

              _We have a unit on the way. Just stay where you are._ _You may hang up if you wish, darling._

Paul opted to hang up. His mind raced and he grabbed some towels from the closet and put them over his father’s wounds. The reality of what’s happened finally hit him. He couldn’t do this alone. He couldn’t take care of Mike and himself without his father’s money and home. Paul knew he would be separated from Mike. He was only seven and Paul seventeen. No one was going to want him.

As he tried in vain to put another towel on the wound, the door burst open. Paul looked up with dried blood and bruises on his face. The officers noted the hand shaped bruise around his neck. They realized they were in fact dealing with a serious case of child abuse. One of the officers took Paul away from the body and attempted to calm him down. He couldn’t take his eyes off his father lying on the floor. The remaining officer bent down and pressed two fingers to the father’s neck. He looked at the officer with Paul and shook his head.

Jim McCartney was pronounced dead at the scene.

****

_Present_

“Hey! John!”

John spun around dizzily to face the small silhouette running in his direction. The large amount of alcohol he consumed made it difficult to make out who it was. He didn’t care. The alcohol took away the feelings. The feelings that Paul created. John fully expected Paul to come around the day after and apologize but he never showed. John paced his room day and night waiting to hear a knock at the door or pebbles at his window. But they never came. Paul, it seemed, wasn’t going to apologize and he meant every word. John drank because of it. He should’ve known it would come to this. They all leave in the end. Even Paul. Especially Paul, his best mate, his confidant, his lover. John shook away the emotions ripping at the back of his head. He fully planned to go back into the bar when a hang grabbed his wrist and forcefully slung him around.

“Lo, John.”

“Ey! Georgie porgie!” John slurred drunkenly into Georges face.

“God, John you stink. When was the last time you showered, mate?” George asked concerned. He knew how much Paul meant to John and he also knew Paul dumped him. It was George who got them together in the first place.  

_Two_ _Years Ago_

“Hey, George.”

“Paul! What happened to your face?” George asked through a mouthful of the bagel he was eating.

“I tripped and fell onto the table. There was a roll in the rug I didn’t see.” Paul replied in mocked embarrassment. George, of course was inclined to believe him. He’s always falling or tripping on something.

"It looks awful, mate." George deadpanned.

"Thanks a lot, George." Paul rolled his eyes. He scanned the cafeteria for who George assumed was John. The seventeen-year-old who's slowly replacing George as best mate. John was the all-around badass at school. People didn't fuck with him or anyone around him. Paul practically swooned over him. At first John paid him absolutely no attention except for the occasional taunt about Paul's babyish and somewhat girlish looks. Somehow, Paul had McCharmed his way into John's line of sight. George imagined it had something to do with Paul's musical abilities. Paul could sing like a fucking angel and could play the guitar well. John played and sang too and was not quite that proficient at guitar. George, however, knew he was better than Paul at playing but he looked too young. That was what he used to get picked on for but the bullying stopped once Paul and John started getting along. George figured that was John's doing as well.

John still looked at George as a kid as he was only fourteen but tolerated him because he was close with Paul. He noticed the topic of Paul's infatuation standing next to a table of seniors. Paul looked dejected. _They're both hopeless,_ George thought. Whenever Paul wasn't looking at John, John had dreamy eyes with hearts popping out of them. The roles reversed when John wasn't looking. George knew he had to do something, he couldn't handle the lovesick couple. He glanced back at Paul who played with his hands under the table.

"Hey, Paul, come on. He is allowed to have other friends." George patted his back. Paul merely shrugged and went back to being all depressed. George rolled his eyes and returned his full attention to Paul's neglected waffle. School breakfast was George's favorite meal that the school served. For some reason the lunch just wasn't the same.

As he began to take a rather large bite, Paul exclaimed, "John!" George looked to the side at a smug John Lennon.

"Don't choke, Harrison." John slapped George's back hard enough to cause the bite of waffle to fly off the fork and into Paul's lap.

"George!" Paul yelled, scraping it off his now syrup stained jeans. John cackled like a hyena which caused Paul's face to turn a violent shade of red.

"Why would you do such a thing, Georgie porgie?" John smiled.

"Don't call me that!” George defended himself, “Sorry, mate, but it wasn't my fault. John hit me and it came off.” Paul only glared in response. John chuckled once more and turned to Paul.

He studied Paul’s face before asking, “What happened now, Paul?” John sounded sarcastic but George could tell he was worried. John tenderly scraped the side of Paul’s bruise to which Paul flinched at the touch. Realizing what Paul must’ve been flinching about, John backed away. There was no need for the entire school to think he was queer. Even if he was… a little… for Paul.

George finally came up with the perfect way to get them together. He’d invite them both over for lunch and then he’d lock them in a closet together. Not that they need any help being in the closet, he just figured something would happen after they got over yelling at him to let them out. His mother might wonder, however, why they’re in there. George’d just tell her that they’re working out their problems. It didn’t seem like a foolproof plan, but George couldn’t think of anything else that would work.

His next step would obviously be to figure out how to lure them into the closet in the first place. He decided that he would tell them he nicked an Elvis record from the store. That’d do it.

“George! Hey, Harrison!”

George jumped. “What?”

“Where were you?” Paul chuckled.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” George walked off to the Garbage cans in the back of the cafeteria leaving a dumbfounded Paul and John behind. They both shrugged and let George go off. The two walked together to their classes in silence. John’s room came up before Paul’s.

John raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Well, see you tonight, then?”

“I can’t. I gotta take care of Mike tonight.” Paul answered diverting his eyes downward.

John crossed his arms. “You always take care of him, Paul. You are allowed to go out once in a while.”

“I know, I know. But maybe this weekend. Mike’s going off to my Aunt’s.”

“Oh, that’ll work. Mimi’s gone this weekend too. Visit some distant relatives or something. I don’t know, I kinda stopped listening after about five seconds.”

A voice came from behind them. “Well, you guys wanna come to mine for lunch then. Mom’s cooking. I have this Elvis record too that I nicked from the store last week.”

“You want to, John?” Paul pleaded expectantly. George knew he was going to break; John always did when Paul looked at him like that.

“Yeah, ok. But you’re all mine the rest of the weekend, Paul. I need your help with these chords.” John reluctantly agreed. George couldn’t help but think John had something planned for Paul this weekend. He usually gets excited about Elvis. He pushed the thought away, thinking his plan was the only one that mattered. George sauntered off to class, too smug to focus on math.

~~~~

George invited his friend, Ringo over to lunch as well. He knew he needed help if he was to get John ‘n’ Paul together. George met Ringo at the park a few months ago, and even though there was a nearly three-year difference between them, they got on great. They shared a love for music and a love for cigarettes. Whenever Paul didn’t hang out with him, George typically called up Ringo. Ringo worked in the Ford office in town. He typically got nights off and gladly spent them with George. He played the drums in a band with his friend Rory, who George had met on multiple occasions. Mostly at Ringo’s apartment.

Ringo was more than happy to assist George in this plan. He had seen John and Paul on stage at Two Keys Tavern and thought they were already a couple, especially with the way that John looked at Paul. Ringo’d never seen that before between two men who claimed to be friends.

George figured the plan would go like this: they would have lunch as soon as John and Paul got here. Once finished he would have Paul and John help him get the player and some records down from the closet. Ringo would distract George’s mother while George shoved them in and barricaded the door with the chair strategically positioned in close reach. He’d then leave them there to sort out their problems. George couldn’t wait.

“When are they…” Ringo started to ask, but was interrupted by the rapid knocking at the door. “I guess that’s them, then.” Ringo followed George to the door. Since Ringo stood a few inches shorter than George, he had to stand on the balls of his feet in order to see their guests.

“Hey George!” Paul exclaimed, “and, uh…”

“Ringo. Or Richard Starkey.” Ringo held out his hand to Paul and then to John.

“Ringo? As in Rory Storm and The Hurricanes?” John asked.\

“That’s me.” Ringo replied to and overjoyed John. “And you’re the Quarrymen.”

“Yep. You know you’re too good to be in their band, right? You should just join ours. Our drummer is shit anyway.” John prompted nonchalantly. George suddenly felt a twinge of jealousy. He wanted to be in John’s band ever since Paul told him about it. Now, without even blinking an eye, John’s asked Ringo to join. Of course, George hasn’t told Paul about these misgivings, but he has told Ringo.

“I’ll join if George does.” Ringo stated. He remembered the conversation he’d had with George about the way John treated him. John treated George like a child and even Ringo knew George was the best guitar player he’d ever heard.

The right corner of John’s mouth twitched up. “I didn’t ask him.”

“Well you should. His age really shouldn’t matter since his talent is far better than anyone I’ve heard.” Ringo winked at George who blushed a light shade of pink. George had never heard anyone stand up to John like that.

“You’ll leave Rory if I let George in?”

“Yes.”

John squinted his eyes. “Fine. George you can be in the band.”

“I’ll break the news to Rory tomorrow, right now, I’m starving.” Ringo rubbed his stomach.

George smiled like an idiot as John, Paul, and Ringo shuffled to the kitchen where George’s mother made a small meal of burgers plus a black bean burger for Paul. They sat down at the table and chatted about music and the kinds of songs they were going to perform with their new lineup. John had figured they didn’t need three guitar players and said he would sack their current bass player if Paul would pick it up. Naturally Paul agreed, saying he would start saving up to buy a nice bass.

“That was absolutely amazing, Mrs. Harrison!” Ringo wiped his face clean and projected a nice smile. George knew that was the key word they agreed on to get their plan in motion.

“Hey, Paul, John, would you guys help me get some of the records and the player down from my closet?” George asked while stacking all their plates in the sink to help his mother clean up a little.

"Yeah. Sure." Paul scratched his nose and stood up. John followed him. George led them down the hall to his bedroom. He opened the door for Paul and John to enter first.

George pointed to the closet. "In there." Paul opened the door to which John scoffed.

"George, you twit. There's nothin' here!"

"There will be." And with a hard shove, George managed to push both John and Paul in the closet. He quickly shut the door and set the chair under the doorknob. John and Paul shouted and banged at the door.

"What the fuck, Harrison!" John yelled, "let us out!"

"Nope. Not until you two work out your shit."

"George, come on!" Paul whined.

"No. Bye." George left his room locking it from the outside just in case they managed to escape from the closet.

"What's going on, George?" Mrs. Harrison questioned.

George shrugged. "Nothing important, Mom. Come on, Rings." He took Ringo to the living room where the records were. They chose to listen to Carl Perkins, an artist they both admired. The volume was low as to not disturb John and Paul upstairs.

"Um. George? When should we let them out?" Ringo inquired.

“Actually, Rings, I haven’t heard anything in a while. Maybe we can sneak up there and see…” George shut off the music and ushered Ringo upstairs to his bedroom. They both tiptoed on the carpet. George switched the latch on his door slowly. Creaking the door open, he exchanged glances with Ringo. They both approached the closet door like mice. George removed the chair as gently as possible. He glanced at Ringo once more, holding his breath. He gripped the doorknob and flung the door open. Both Ringo and George sighed in relief. John had Paul backed up against the wall in a passionate, heated kiss. They broke apart, however, when George let out his sigh. Paul slunk backwards, a noticeable flush of red across his cheeks.

John smiled brilliantly at George. “Work out our shit, huh? You cheeky bastard.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Chapter 2. I don't own The Beatles or their music. I'm still fiddling around with this fic. To those who've read my other multi-chap. I promise it'll come soon. I'm in bit of a writer's block... Which is where this came from

_Present_

“So he’s left school too?” John drunkenly asked George. John hadn’t spoken to George since the night John split up The Quarrymen. He remembered the night clearly despite the alcohol. George and Ringo had shown up together. Apparently, John was the only one Paul had told he was leaving. Every single person in The Quarrymen asked him where Paul was. The bassist had the unfortunate spot of being the last one to practice and the last one to ask about Paul. John had gone insane and smashed a bottle on the bassist’s head. It took both Ringo and George to pull John away. George had gotten a black eye out of it too as he was too close to John’s elbow. John had screamed at everyone to get out, that the band was through.

“Yeah. Without a trace. It’s weird too, you know? I called Paul’s Aunt and she said she’d never heard of him. Or Mike! Then she hung up. Just like that.” George gulped down the last of his beer. He looked up at John who seemed to be thinking about something. George decided not to push it. He didn’t want another black eye.

“That doesn’t make sense.” John slurred, propping his elbow on the table. George noticed his eyes drooping slightly. He decided John needed to go home. He doubted John’s Aunt Mimi would even let him in the house smelling like a sewer and being passed out drunk. But George had to try.

He dragged John down the street to the nearest bus stop. They never ran on time, as was the public transit system in their town. John snored softly on George’s shoulder. George couldn’t help but wonder where Paul was and what happened. There was something missing that none of them knew and something told George he didn’t think they ever would.

He needed to help John though. Maybe something pulled Paul away from John. Maybe he really did want a proper job and maybe he thought John would never do that with him. Maybe Paul spared John’s feelings in a way. Whatever it was, George wouldn’t ever stop thinking about it.

~~~~

“Both of us? Someone wants us both? That was impossibly quick.” Paul stared incredulously at the woman who took them in. He glanced at Mike who had been holding onto his hand for the past hour and a half. Paul had every right to be surprised as it had only been a few days of being in the foster care system. He was assured that he would not be split up from Mike. This woman’s family had agreed to take them both in until a better arrangement could be found. He and Mike had been living with the family of six for two days, sharing everything. Paul, however, found a companion in the second oldest daughter, Dorothy, or Dot for short. Paul was a little upset that after he had started to make friends again he was forced to leave.

“Mr. Brian Epstein and Mr. Cliff Jaxson. A nice couple in the Beaumont district which is about a ten-minute drive from here. You won’t have to change schools. They’re coming here today to meet you and take you out for dinner.”

“They’re gay?” Paul asked.

“Is that a problem, Paul?” The woman looked at him from her spot at the kitchen table.

“No. I was just wondering.” Paul couldn’t help but feel more relaxed. He would be able to talk to someone and have them understand. He had lost John. He needed someone.

“Well, they’re excited about you. They actually didn’t comment on your age. I think they are more than willing to pay for your education.” She smiled softly at Paul who beamed with happiness. He really hoped these people would treat Mike better. He hoped they would be proud and supportive. _Mike needs to be loved_ , Paul thought, _he hasn’t spoken to anyone since our family covered everything up and basically erased us from the family. He needs this, I can’t be around forever._

The Rhone family gave them happy hugs. Paul was dragged aside by Dot who gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

"So, um, now that you're not living with my family anymore, would you want to go on a date?" She smiled at Paul. Paul couldn't say no. Not after all her family did for him and Mike. Paul liked her well enough and maybe this way the heartache he felt for John would go away.

“I… yeah. Yeah. Maybe this weekend we can see a movie or something. Really, Dot, I like you a lot.” Paul stammered. He blushed, trying to move on and trying to forget John.

“Oh, Paul! I’d love to!” She flung her arms around Paul’s shoulders. Paul grimaced slightly at the action. He knew he’d have to put a lot of effort into the relationship.

~~~~

“Paul! Mike! Mr. Epstein and Jaxson are here!”

Paul sighed and stood up. He really was excited to meet the people who were taking them in. He reached over to shake Mike awake. Today, Paul had gotten Mike to play a little soccer with him at the park as well as finally laugh and smile. All he had to do was explain that they were getting two dads. Paul thought it would be a little harder but Mike accepted it easily. He wasn’t sure why.

Paul gave Mike his jacket and watched him tie his shoes. He felt a sense of pride watching his little brother. He’d always wanted kids to prove he could be a better father than his. Paul realized he already was.

“Hey, Paulie, are we leaving?” Mike spoke, breaking Paul’s train of thought.

“Yeah, come on, Mikey.” Paul chuckled and lightly pushed him out the door. He observed as Mike bounded his way down the stairs. They were both immediately met with their new parents. Paul approached them apprehensively, not quite wanting to say anything. He took in the way they looked. Paul half expected them to be “out-there”, but they weren’t. They both stood over or close to six feet and looked kind and _loving_. The tallest of them was muscular with soft features. Paul figured he played some kind of contact sport, by the slight crookedness of his nose. The man’s green eyes shone down brightly at Mike as if he was the best thing he’d ever seen. The shorter man wasn’t as big, but he wasn’t weak either. He looked very strict but also fatherly. A trait Paul hadn't seen in a very long time. He eyed Paul with so much admiration and joy, that Paul couldn’t help by smile back and approach him.

“Um, I’m Paul. Are you Mr. Epstein or Jaxson?”

The man held out his hand. “Paul. I’m Brian Epstein. You can just call me Brian, if you want. I won’t ask you to call me dad or anything. I’m not…”

“Dad. I think I’ll go with that; I can’t be calling you something different than Mikey. But, um, do we call you both dad or…” Paul asked apprehensively. He didn’t want to offend them on the first day. Not after the warm reception they just got. Brian seemed so happy to see them.

"Oh, well. I guess you can call us both Dad. You can probably just point and shout if you want to distinguish between us." Brian gave a sheepish grin. "You're both very handsome and well mannered young men and it seems my husband has become quite smitten with Mike. Both Jax and I are ecstatic to get to know you. We never thought this would happen for us."

Paul couldn't be happier. He already liked them. Jax played with Mike, who was already leaping on him.

"Well. I did my best and Mike seems really happy right now and that's all I want." Paul felt a large hand cup his shoulder. The larger man stood behind him, Mike tightly wrapped around his leg.

"Us too. And we've heard you want to be an teacher? I teach history in the next county over, I'll be more than happy to talk with you about applying to college. I know that's coming up soon."

Paul glanced down at Mike. "I'd really like that..."

"Let's get some food then, hm?" Jax slapped Paul's back and let Mike run to Paul.

"Paulie! Are we really going to live with them?" Mike asked jumping up and down on Paul's arm.

"Yeah, we are, Mike. We certainly are."

****

_Six Years Later_

Paul McCartney sat on his bed with his laptop on his lap. The papers he assigned two weeks ago needed to be graded. He raked a hand through his dark hair and peered over to his left to see his long-term girlfriend, Dot, reading a book. Paul shut his laptop and laid it on the floor. The papers could wait another day. It had been months since he'd had sex with Dot. Most of the time she'd barely even kiss him, let alone touch him. Paul decided tonight he'd try. He leaned over and softly kissed her neck in different spots.

She sighed. "Not tonight, Paul. I'm very tired."

Paul pushed himself off and let out a small breath. "Fine." He rolled over forcefully and switched off his light.

Dot sighed again. "There's no reason to be like that, Paul. Maybe another night."

"Goodnight, Dot." Paul grumbled back. He was only 23 and he felt like he was already 50.

"Goodnight."

Paul eventually drifted off into what he thought would be a dreamless one. He was wrong. The night he killed his father haunted him every so often. Dot had never been around when he had these nightmares. Paul hadn't had one in a year or so and thought they were finally done.

Dot awoke with a slight pressure on her calf. She looked over to a slightly sweaty and shaking Paul.

"Paul?" She tapped his shoulder. "Paul, are you alright?" Dot tried again, this time shaking him a little. He reacted in small convulsions and a groan. She noticed his breathing turned laborious and almost whiny. Dot dropped her hand back to her side and thought she should let him ride it out. As she began to roll over to her side Paul started whispering, "I'm sorry" over and over again. She was about to violently shake him awake when he shot straight up in the bed. Dot never saw him like this before. She went to console him but he ran off and puked in the bathroom. Not thinking she could deal with him, she rolled over on her side and pretended to be asleep.

Paul assumed Dot was asleep. He hated the dreams he got. They made him sick every time. All the blood, Mike's face, his mother's disappointment. He brushed his teeth to get the taste of vomit from his mouth before returning to the bed. Paul laid back down and took a deep breath. He figured he wouldn't be going back to sleep anytime soon.

What took him by surprise were a pair of lips connecting with his. Dot coaxed him on, letting him advance. Paul thought from this moment everything would be ok. He let the thought slip from his mind that Dot just felt sorry for him. He wanted to believe she wanted this too, even though she was just lying there, letting Paul do the work.

When he awoke the next morning, Dot was gone. She'd left Paul a note saying she'd gone out with some friends. Paul smiled, having no reason not to believe her.

~~~~

Helen Simonds goes for a walk every Saturday morning. She sees the Whaller's arrive home from church and Tiffany Peters walking her dog. One thing she doesn't expect to see is her fellow teacher's, Paul McCartney's, girlfriend walk into the house of the gym teacher, Dwight Wilson. Being the nosey woman she was, Helen went to peek in the window.

She couldn't believe what she saw: Paul's girlfriend and the gym teacher going at it like animals. Helen thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head. She had to tell Paul even though she knew it would break his heart.

~~~~

Paul sat on the kitchen barstool, sipping tea and flipping through the Saturday morning paper. He felt better than he had in a long time. Just next to his hand lay a folded up piece of paper and a ring box. He opened up the paper to read through it one more time to make sure it was perfect. His handwriting, somewhat girlish, littered the page. This was her copy of the song he would sing to her. The song he wrote, _And I Love Her._

Paul planned to propose tonight over Chinese food and a movie. He didn't want to go all out on the sappiness as the song itself was quite enough. His thoughts were interrupted by an obnoxious rapping at the door.

Still smiling, Paul got up to answer the door. Upon opening it, his face twisted in shock. Helen Simonds was the last person he thought he'd see this morning.

"Good morning, Helen. I've got to say I'm surprised to see you." Paul chuckled and let her in. "Sorry for the mess, luv. I was looking for something in storage."

Helen's eyes shone of sympathy. "Oh, Paul. I wish I were here on a social call. I'd rather not have to tell you."

"Tell me what?" He set down the kettle on the stove.

"I saw your girlfriend go into Dwight Wilson's house this morning." Helen spied the ring box on the counter, shattering her heart into a thousand pieces. Dot Rhone did not deserve Paul. Sweet, caring, and adorable, Paul.

"What? She left me a note saying she was going out with friends this morning." Paul furrowed his eyebrows. He suddenly felt the dread creep up into his mind and heart.

"Paul. You are such a sweetheart. She doesn't deserve you. You're too good for her."

"Helen," Paul's voice cracked, "What was she doing?"

Helen cringed. "Her and Dwight were having quite heated sex. I'm so sorry Paul. If I wasn't completely sure, you know I wouldn't say anything."

Paul stood quiet for a while before letting out a little sigh. "Thank you, Helen. I...I just need some time alone to process."

Her heart melted into a puddle at the sight of Paul who suddenly looked so tired. He green eyes lost the shine and his normally droopy eyes sagged with the weight of his life.

"Paul if you need..."

"Yeah. Thanks. I'll see you Monday." Paul watched Helen leave. He fell back against the counter and tucked the ring box back into his pants pocket. _Let her find the song. Give her hope like me. I'll write another which won't be so kind._

Paul let his head fall into his hands and spoke to no one, "I miss you, Johnny."

~~~~

Paul sat on the bed, plucking at the strings on his guitar and waiting for Dot to get home. The knowledge he had made him sick to think about. All the times he’d been gone visiting his parents and his brother, she’d probably fucked in their bed. He tightened his grip around the neck of his guitar and inhaled deeply. _She’s out. She has one week to get her stuff and go._

Paul hated these feelings that crept up inside of him. He couldn’t stand it. They made him hate himself all over again, just like the night when he had to tell John to fuck off. Those feelings had never gone away. If he would’ve just told John…

It seemed like forever till the door finally unlocked and he heard the familiar, “I’m home”. Paul began to play.

_I give her all my love_

_That’s all I do_

_And if you saw my love,_

_You’d love her too._

_I love her_

“Paul?” he heard her say. He wasn’t going to respond. She had to have found the lyrics by now.

              _A love like ours_

_Could never die_

_As long as I_

_Have you near me._

“Paul?” She said again, this time with a surprised tone. Paul never told her he could sing or play. He didn’t feel the need since he played and sang for John and nobody else. It was at least something that still connected him to John.

              _Bright are the stars that shine,_

Paul made eye contact with her.

              _Dark is the sky._

_I know this love of mine,_

_Will never die_

_And I love her._

“Paul, I had no idea! You’re very good. Was that for me?” Dot pulled her hands to her heart and Paul snorted. She blinked a couple times at his strange response.”

“No. But I did write something for you.” Paul confessed, trying not to let his disgust show too much. He hoisted his guitar back on his lap. Dot smiled, not knowing what would come next. Paul cleared his throat:

              _I’m looking through you,_

_Where did you go?_

_I thought I knew you,_

_What did I know?_

_You don’t look different, but you have changed._

_I’m looking through you, you’re not the same._

Paul kept eye contact with her, waiting to see the moment where she realized he knew.

              _Your lips are moving,_

_I cannot hear._

_Your voice is soothing,_

_But the words aren’t clear._

_You don’t sound different,_

_I’ve learned the game._

_I’m looking through you,_

_You’re not the same._

He saw it. Dot’s eyes grew two sizes, but he continued for two more lines.

              _Why, tell me why, did you not treat me right?_

_Love has a nasty habit of disappearing overnight._

He stopped playing and let the bitterness shine. “Well? What’d you think?”

“Paul, I can…” She started to say.

“No. Dot. Just no. I’m done with excuses, you made your choice. You have a week to move out.” Paul kept calmer than he thought he would.

“Paul, I’ve got so much stuff! You can’t just give me a week!” Dot yelled.

“It sounds like a personal problem. Maybe _Dwight_ can help you. I need you to move out, Mike’s staying with me this summer and he needs the space. He’s got a lot of football gear and stuff,” Paul placed his guitar back in it’s case, “Oh, and don’t expect to stay here tonight, either. You might have noticed your key didn’t work. I changed the locks.”

“You can’t!” She was screaming now. Paul didn’t feel in the mood to scream back.

Paul grabbed his tea on the nightstand and took a sip. “You don’t pay the house payment, luv, in fact you don’t pay any of the bills. So, I can bloody well do as I like.”

Without another word, Dot stormed out of the house. Most people say you feel guilty about getting revenge at least five minutes after it happens. Paul felt nothing. It was as if a burden was released from his shoulders. Paul came back to his hometown for a reason, a reason he forgot when Dot moved in with him. He came to find John.

****

It had been months and Paul still hadn’t found a trace of John anywhere. He even approached John’s Aunt Mimi who told him to forget it. John left years ago, heartbroken, thanks to Paul. Of course he gave a fake name, he still was afraid of Aunt Mimi. Paul was about to give up and hire a personal investigator, when Mike came in from an evening run.

“Hey, Paul, uh, I think I might have something to tell you and I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”

“Try me. What is it?” Paul smiled handing his brother a bottle of water from the fridge.”

“I think I saw John.” Mike took a cautious drink, not letting his eyes leave his brother’s face.

“Where?” Paul asked excitedly.

“This is the part you’re not gonna like, Paulie.”

“I don’t care. Spill.”

“In an alley, behind the home improvement store.”

“Why was he there?” Paul asked confused. When he thought again, maybe John worked there on the loading platform or something. _Why wouldn’t I like that?_ Paul wondered to himself.

“Paul, John’s homeless.”

“John’s what? Are you sure, Mike?” Paul paced back and forth. 

“I think so. Paul, I wouldn’t get your hopes up, just in case I was wrong.” Mike sincerely wanted his brother to find John. But he also didn’t want to see Paul’s heart broken. Again. Mike knew his brother would crack if he didn’t get it right this time. 

“I’m going to find him. There’s pizza in the fridge.” Paul grabbed his coat and quickly fled the house. Mike sighed. He didn't think John would be at all receptive to a clean shaven, middle-class Paul McCartney.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are going to hate me... maybe. Anyway, I don't own The Beatles. I apologize that this one's a bit shorter than the others, but there's some brotherly banter. I promise I will make the next chapter SOOOOO much longer. Well, I'll try anyways. Thanks for reading!!!!!

It wasn’t until a week later on his way back from his summer job that he saw him. Paul worked at the local tutoring center downtown. He helped kids study for their college entrance exams and also helped them with their college essays. He also led a community book reading as an outreach program to teach people to read and to give them a chance to hear both Shakespeare and Patterson. Paul half-hoped that John would show up, since Mike told him John might be homeless. Paul had parked a little farther down from the tutoring center than normal since his normal parking at the small university was full. Something on his right caught his eye. He stopped in his tracks to get a better look.

John scrounged through the trash hunting for anything he could eat. He hadn’t eaten anything proper in about three years since he graduated art school and failed to find a job. Nobody seemed to want someone with a degree in art. It’s the way it worked. He’d certainly gotten skinnier, losing all the love handles and extra pudge on his stomach. John was happy about that, but he didn’t look a healthy skinny either. His eyes sunk into his head and his body felt weak. The hair on his face and head wound in disgusting knots laced with food and other stuff from the armpits of mother nature. John scared people off and he liked it that way.

“J…John?”

 _No,_ John thought, _it can’t be._ He turned around and came face to face with Paul McCartney holding a coffee and a bag. John couldn’t believe it. He knew he recognized that voice. Paul was there. He suddenly felt all the anger and the hurt and the longing creep into his thoughts. He looked good. The laugh lines prominent on his eyes stood out to John. Paul even had those when they were fifteen. Part of John wanted to run to him and never let go and another part wanted to kick him in the balls.

Paul spoke again, his voice small, “I, uh, here. I haven’t drunk or eaten it.” He held out his bagel and tea from the shop on Third Street. He couldn’t believe the condition John was in. He looked so tired and dirty. Paul wondered how long he’d been living on the streets. He blamed himself for this.

“You.” John’s voice was rugged and angry. “You think I want your help, you bastard? I don’t need your fucking charity. Fuck off, McCartney. Go back to your comfy silver spoon and leave me alone.”

“John, please, it’s…” Paul pleaded in vain.

“No. Fuck you, Paul. You can take your piss and your shit and shove it up your ass.” John turned back to the trash can, rummaging through it. He almost turned around and apologized. Almost. He had to stand his ground against Paul. John didn’t realize the power Paul still had over him.

Paul sat the tea and bagel down on the ground. “Fine.” Paul stalked off, leaving a disheveled John gripping onto the rim of the trashcan. John heard a car start from a distance. Of course Paul was well-kempt. It wouldn’t be Paul otherwise. He wanted to believe Paul had a reason for running away without so much as a goodbye or an explanation. But he also knew that everyone leaves. John decided to seek out advice on whether to let Paul explain or just leave it and he knew exactly who to go to.

~~~~

Paul slammed the door and kicked the wall out of frustration. He watched the cat take off in fear down the hallway. He started to chase after her when a noise came from the kitchen.

Mike appeared around the corner, munching on a cookie from Paul’s stash. “I take it work was crap today?”

“No…wasn’t work.” Paul mumbled. His eyes shifted down to the cookie in Mike’s hand. “Is that one of my cookies?”

“Yeah. You really should hide them better.” Mike jested, trying to cheer Paul up. He had a feeling he knew what was wrong.

“Go get the whole jar. I’m just going to eat them all.” Paul fell onto the couch and pinched the bridge of his nose. His head throbbed with a mixture of guilt and self-hatred.

“What happened Paul? Was it John?” Mike pushed his brother, trying to move him over. “Budge over.” Paul wiggled to the left to let Mike lie down next to him. He draped his right arm behind Mike’s neck, letting his hand rest on his upper arm. Paul was glad Mike didn’t care. He needed someone to talk to.

“Yeah. I, uh, saw him today. Digging through the trash. I offered him my food and he pretty much threw it in my face.” Paul dragged his hands across his face. “I don’t want to give up, Mikey. You should have seen him. It was horrible. I’ve never seen him so…so… _broken_. God, it's all my fault. I did this to him."

Mike nudged Paul with his head. "Paul. Come on. If anyone's to blame, it's our father. Try again and make John understand. Tell him if you have to. I know you'll get through to him. You always do."

"Oh sure, 'Hey John, so yeah I left because I murdered my father. I hope you understand 'cause I still love you.'" Paul groaned, "That's when he'd probably punch me and tell me I'm a sick bastard or something."

"Which part would he call you a sick bastard for? The murdering or the 'I love you' part? My bets on the I love you."

"Miiiikkkkeee...."

"Alright, sorry. I'm just trying to lighten the mood here, depressing Dan."

"I know you are, kiddo. I appreciate it. I just need to get my mind off of it I guess." Paul confessed in a sigh. He really did love that Mike was here. Mike could take all of his attention.

Mike squirmed in excitement, elbowing Paul in the ribs. "Then let's go to the mall! I have dad's credit card and an appetite for authentic and expensive Chinese food. Also a need for new equipment, which is why I even have the card."

Paul rubbed his side. "Ow. Which dad's card do you have?"

"The gay one."

"Shut up." Paul pushed Mike off the couch. He fell with a thud. The brothers laughed in unison while Paul grabbed his car keys off the counter. Mike tackled Paul from behind, wrapping his arms around Paul's waist in a hug.

"Thanks."

"Love you too, Mikey."

****

John dragged himself down Broadway to find Sarah. The people he passed put their heads down. He wished he had this type of power when he was in school.

Sarah'd been on the streets longer than anyone. When John first found himself without any type of support, she showed him the ropes, gave him advice, and gave him food and shelter until he could take care of himself.

He turned the corner on Third Street to a small area behind one of the old historical buildings. John loved going to the city in the historical district. The park there relaxed him. Gave him hope. He made wishes into the fountain, praying one of them would come true. He fought the urge to admit that one of them did.

"Sarah! It's me, John." John announced. Around him was several empty boxes which he knew housed newly homeless folk. John only knew those boxes so well. Especially that one in the corner, now on loan to an elderly man. So many nights he had spent crying, wishing his life had taken another turn. He could’ve been famous. John Lennon was destined for something greater, yet, here he was, alone, starving, and lovesick.

He started to head back when Sarah came out if the shadows on the makeshift cane she made out of an old oak tree branch.

"Had to make sure it was you, sonny." She crooned through rotted teeth. By no means was Sarah attractive. Her skin wrinkled in places John didn’t think could wrinkle. John knew she’d been on the streets for at least thirty years, surviving winter after winter and summer after summer. He honestly didn’t know how she was still alive. John thought for sure he’d be dead in a year or two. By weather, hunger, murder, or something else he often contemplated.

John pushed back the hair out of his face. "It's me. I need some advice."

"You were always my favorite, Lennon. What can I do for you?" Her remaining teeth made John shiver every time. It was hard to see past her looks. John thought deep down she was wise.

"A, uh, friend of mine who I, um, used to be intimate with has found me. H..they wanted to help but they just hurt me so much. H... they might have a reason for doing so, I just...what was said..." John had to look away. He wouldn't let Sarah see him cry. You can't cry in front of her. It's a sign of weakness.

"Use him."

"Use him? How do you mean?" John asked surprised by her quick answer.

"If he's got money. Use him. Hurt him like he's hurt you. When he starts to think he's making progress on you, break his heart. Steal, cheat, _lie._ You know my motto." Sarah said through wide eyes, "And think of me, my dear. This is my advice. I expect something in return."

"I never said it was a he."

"Please. I always know. You used to mumble the name 'Paul' in your sleep." She spit a piece of something from her rotted teeth.

John quickly changed the subject. "Uh, so use him. What do you want? Booze? Money?"

"Both. Maybe a cooked meal or two?”

"Fine. Thanks, Sarah. I knew I could trust you." John smiled ruefully but felt a small twist in his stomach which he blamed on the fish he ate from an apartment trashcan.

****

"What about these? They're blue." Paul held up a pair of training shorts for Mike. He never realized how much of a pain Mike was to shop with. He wouldn't try on anything nor would he even give an ounce of consideration to anything Paul picked out. He held up colors and brands from all over the store only to be met with an annoying ‘eh’.

"Nah. Not those. I already have blue ones and that brand doesn't fit me well." Mike reasoned. He knew how aggravated he was making Paul. But he also knew he wasn't thinking about John, which was the ultimate goal.

Paul growled at his brother, "Mike! They're just going to get all muddy and gross anyway. Why does it matter the _color_?"

"Because."

"Perfectly logical. Twit." He folded his arms across his chest and continued looking for something Mike would wear. "Here! What about these black ones? It is a neutral color. No one will make fun of you or whatever you're anal about."

"Oh. Those are good." Mike rubbed the fabric between his fingers.

Paul faked astonishment. "Have I... have I finally appeased you my lord? I must take this time to..." He started to kneel on the floor.

"Can it, Paul. You're embarrassing me."

Paul crinkled his nose in amusement. He missed teasing his little brother. "I thought you said I wasn't embarrassing."

Mike rolled his eyes as Paul chuckled. He followed Mike up to the cash register to pay for the ball, shoes, socks, and shorts it took them an hour and a half to find. Paul noticed his stomach rumbling and was ready for the expensive Chinese restaurant. When Mike had paid Paul offered to carry his bag.

"It's the least I could do as your trusty steed." Paul quipped in an overt posh accent.

"Shut up, Paul. Cassie is walking this way." Mike adjusted his posture. He stood up straight and puffed out his chest to which Paul snorted.

"You don't need to do that, Mike. Just be yourself."

"I have to do something standing next to you, Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome." Mike whined in a whisper.

"Mike, might I remind you that they are thirteen and I am 23? Also, I'm pining for another man?"

"They can still think you're attractive!”

"Mike, they…"

"Shhhh! Hey Cassie!"

"Hi." She responded not taking her eyes off Paul.

Sensing the awkwardness of the present situation, Paul intervened. "Well, wish we could stay and chat, luv, but my brother here promised he'd help me pick out a birthday present for my boyfriend." He flashed a brilliant smile at the thirteen-year-old who's eyes widened and broke in defeat. Her eyes then shifted to Mike. She realized Paul had said ‘brother’.

"Uh, yeah. We have to go. I'll see you at school." Mike pulled Paul away quickly towards the restaurant. "Did you see the way she looked at me! I think I have a chance."

"I'm not going to tell you not to go for it. But, don't. She's going to use you, Mike." Paul explained. "I know what that's like. You know: Dot?"

Mike slouched dejected. He knew Paul was right. His older brother spun him around to face him.

Paul delicately smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Hey, now, that doesn't mean give up. There are other fish in the sea, you know."

Mike’s upper lip twitched. "That’s rich, coming from you, future Mr. Lennon.”

“Hang on, what makes you think I’d take his last name?” Paul raised an eyebrow expectantly at Mike.

Mike laughed. “Please, Paul. You know why.”

“No I don’t. Pray, do tell.”

“I know that when you first kissed John, he had you pinned up against the wall in a locked closet.”

“Who told you?” Paul’s voice raised slightly which attracted attention from other mall-goers.

Mike cringed. “Dad. By accident, I kinda coaxed it out of him.”

“Which one?” Paul asked and then added, “You know what? Never mind. Neither of them are getting a father’s day gift this year.” He winked at Mike. “No, I guess you’re right. If it even comes to that…”

 _Crap,_ Mike mentally kicked himself. “Uh, hey, let’s eat, I’m starving! Desert’s on you though.”

Paul chuckled. “‘Course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

~~~~

The brothers left the restaurant full and giddy. Paul had his right arm squeezing the younger one's shoulders while Mike told a story about how he pranked his teacher. Paul was proud. He didn't care that the teacher ended up face first on the ground. He saw how happy Mike was and how amazing he turned out to be. Mike had so much to live for now: Girlfriends, scholarships, college... Paul couldn’t be happier, even if John wasn’t there to see it. No matter how much John used to tease him about taking care of Mike, he secretly loved the little guy. Paul remembered how John adored the fact that Mike followed him around like a puppy. Mike would do _anything_ for John, get him some tea, clean up his plate, put on a record… Paul pulled Mike in a little closer. He was so involved in Mike that he didn’t see the figure huddled on the ground with a rusted tin can and a sign begging for money.

“Paul! Hey, Paul!”

Paul ignored the voice, thinking it wasn’t anyone he knew. It sounded gravely and wheezy and almost like a drunkard. He walked a little faster, still hearing the voice. Mike looked terrified which prompted Paul to start running. He heard a thud and a cease in the calling and an increase in coughing and wheezing. Paul chanced it and turned around.

“JOHN!” He rushed back with a stunned Mike at his heels, “Mikey, call the paramedics. Now!” Mike dialed emergency with shaking fingers. John was motionless on the ground. Paul checked for pulse and breathing which he didn’t find. He began CPR, trying not to think of the smell coming from his former lover.

“Come on, Johnny. Not like this.” Paul kept going, checking every two minutes for any sign of life.

When the paramedics took over, John still didn’t have a pulse. The paramedics applied an AED, giving Paul the first look at John’s state of being. He wanted to run, run far enough away that no one would find him. John had nothing on his body but skin and bones. Paul wanted to throw up. _Everything that happened to John happened because of me._

He watched at John’s body jolted under the shock of the AED. After the first two times, the AED detected a heartbeat. Paul asked which hospital they planned to take him to. Immediately, Paul grabbed Mike’s hand and ran to the car.

Paul put the keys in the ignition with trembling hands. His hand lingered over the gear shift for a moment before resting on the steering wheel. He rested his head down too.

Mike was worried. Paul seemed in no condition to drive.

“He’ll be alright, Paul. I know it.” He spoke softly, “He has something to live for. He needs you there, even if he doesn’t admit it to himself. You’ll be the first person he sees. Now pull yourself together and drive.”

Paul huffed. “Since when did you turn 95 and wise?”

Mike reached for the keys. “Shut up and go before I drive us.”

Paul slapped his hand away. “Uh, no. I don’t want to be in a hospital bed too.” He took look at Mike who smiled in such a way that made Paul believe everything would be okay. Mike always had that effect on him. He shook away his fears and shifted the car into drive.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own The Beatles. I've been very mean to John and Paul. I'm sorry. Well, not really. Thanks for reading, kudos, and your comments! They give me so much inspiration and they make me stick to a deadline. So here's chapter 4. I'll be going on vacation for a week, so you'll have to wait a little longer for ch. 5.

John awoke to a slight beeping noise and a pressure on his left hand. It took his mind several moments to figure out where he was: a hospital. The events from last night rushed back. In his peripheral, he spotted a blurry figure slouched over asleep. As his vision went from extremely blurry to normal blurry, he recognized the figure as Paul McCartney. Paul had slept holding his hand. John quickly noticed the dried tears and blush on his cheeks. He’d been crying. _But yet,_ John mused, _he still looks perfect._

He sighed louder than he planned to, causing Paul to stir. John closed his eyes quickly.

“John?” Paul mumbled sleepily. When John didn’t answer, he let go of John’s hand and rubbed the sleepiness out of his eyes. John could feel the droopy, hazel eyes linger on his face.

“Well, still asleep or drugged I suppose. I promise I won’t lay my troubles on you again. Last night was a one-time thing.” Paul smiled to himself. “It was good practice for when you actually wake up… Anyway, I thought about something last night. Hah, do you remember the first time we kissed? When George and Ringo locked us in the closet.” He laughed and played with John’s fingers making his heart do things he didn’t want it to do. He hoped the machines wouldn’t pick it up.

Of course John remembered. That conniving brat, George Harrison, literally made things so much easier.

****

_Eight Years Ago: The Closet From John/Paul POV_

"George, you twit. There's nothin' here!" John figured George was crackers. Until he experienced much more force than he ever thought could come out of the skinny bastard.

"There will be." And with a hard shove, George managed to push both John and Paul in the closet. He quickly shut the door and set the chair under the doorknob. John and Paul shouted and banged at the door.

"What the fuck, Harrison!" John yelled, "let us out!" He couldn’t believe this kid had the nerve. John was angry, yet proud. 

"Nope. Not until you two work out your shit." The two heard from outside. John growled and continued to shout obscenities at George. When he got out of the damn closet, he was going to beat the shit out of George.

"George, come on!" Paul whined. Paul looked nervous, he didn’t think he could control his feelings in such close proximity to John. He saw that John was not physically bothered at all.

"No. Bye." They heard George leave the room and a few minutes later light music coming from underneath them. Paul slunk back in the closet as far as he could. He heard John searching around the walls.

“There’s got to be a light or an escape.”

“John. We’re in a closet.”

“Oh, well, thank you, Paul.” John sneered. Paul could finally see some sort of discomfort too.

“I’m just saying, in my experience there’s never been a secret passageway in a closet.”

“Been in many closets then?” John jested.

Paul blushed, thankful for the cover of the dark closet. “Shut up.”

“Paul?” John moved in a little closer to Paul. “Are you blushing?”

He shoved John’s chest away from him. “Oh! Perfect. Of course you can see that but not two feet in front of your face.”

John squinted at Paul. He saw the basic outline of Paul’s posture. _Oh, George, you sneaky git, you knew all along._

“There’s much more room on that side of the closet, John. Why are you standing so close to me?” Paul pouted nervously. John was seeing right through him.

“Macca…”

Paul held his breath. “Mm?” John stood too close for Paul’s comfort, moving closer until their faces were only a breath away.

“Macca…” John placed his hands on the wall behind Paul in order to trap Paul and keep his balance. He couldn’t act like a fool now that he’d built up all this tension. John closed the gap between them and he felt Paul physically melt. Paul snaked his hands on John’s coat and tugged, becoming braver.

John was about to make his next move, when a sigh of relief caused Paul to back away quickly. Light struck John’s eyes and when they adjusted a rather smug looking George and an indifferent Ringo. John couldn’t help but smile.

“Work out our shit, huh? You cheeky bastard.”

****

_Present_

Paul had eventually left John’s side, resigned to the fact that John wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon. He told himself, that even though John couldn’t likely hear him, John needed rest. Paul convinced the doctor to let him take John home today. The doctor had given Paul strict instructions to help John recover.

He dialed Mike’s number to make sure everything was okay. Mike questioned about John’s condition to which Paul was forced to answer that he didn’t really know. The brothers chatted about meaningless things and Paul was grateful for the virtual company. Once he hung up, he made his way back to John’s room.

When he heard Paul enter, John decided to ‘wake up’. He let out a very dramatic groan and fluttered his eyes open.

Paul rushed over to the hospital bed excitedly. “John?”

“Mimi?” John added for effect.

“Not quite, luv, but I’m sure I could pull off a couple of her dresses, though.” Paul smiled widely and hoped his joke would at least release a little tension.

“Paul?” John croaked. Paul ate up every bit of John’s dramatics, oblivious to the fakeness of it all.

“Yeah, Johnny, it’s me. I know I’m probably the last person you want to see, but you almost died right in front of me and I’m not going to leave you again because John, you need help. I don’t care about your damn ego anymore. I’m going to help you even it means I have to tie you to a wheelchair and roll you out myself.” Paul hated laying it on so thick right after he just woke up. He avoided John’s face, bracing himself for a classic verbal beating from John Lennon.

“You’re right.” John bowed his head and picked at his nails. “I’m not well and I shouldn’t have pushed you away the first time.”

Paul shifted between his feet. He’d actually gotten an apology, well, the closest thing to an apology he was going to get from John.

“So you’ll let me take care of you?” Paul hoped.

“Someone’s gotta do it.” John forced a smile, glad Paul took the bait.

Paul swallowed hard. He read the apprehensiveness in Paul’s tone and body language, but he gladly took what he got. A glimmer of hope sparked to life in his heart. John was slowly coming back.

~~~~

Once discharged, Paul wheeled John out in a wheelchair, much to John’s complaint. He had to stifle a snort at Paul’s choice of transportation, a tiny, green Honda Civic.

Paul noticed. “What? It runs and gets great gas mileage. Also, I don’t have a car payment.”

“Look at that thing, Paul! No wonder you’re still single.” John cackled.

Paul made a guttural noise before running the wheelchair into the front bumper of the car. “Whoops. That didn’t hurt, did it?”

“Git.” John grumbled back, grabbing Paul’s hand for help standing up and getting in the car. Underneath the brooding, John was glad for the help. Feeling like he did, Sarah would have to wait until his strength was back and he could support his own weight. He had to let Paul help him, no matter how much it hurt his pride.

“John, I know you’re still upset with me and you have every right to be, but please don’t make this hard. You’ve got to eat. I’ve got meat at home and don’t mind making you whatever,” When John didn’t answer, Paul continued, “You don’t have to talk to me either. I’m also not forcing you to stay when you get better.” He left it at that and turned on the radio.

John reached over and turned it down. “Do you play anymore?”

“Play what?” Paul eyed John quizzically, although he knew exactly what he meant.

“You know, guitar, music…”

“Oh, that. No. I mean, I can still play, but, um, it lost its appeal.” Paul hated the awkwardness of the conversation. He wasn’t ready to tell John that he stopped playing because it reminded him too much of their relationship. He wasn’t ready to tell John that he only played for him in the end.

“Right. Mimi still has my guitar, I think. I left it there. Unless she sold it.”

“She doesn’t have it.” Paul stopped at a stop sign, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him.

“And then where is it?” John genuinely wondered.

“I, um, I bought it from her.” John stared at Paul. He couldn’t believe it.

John showed a bit more anger than he intended. “Why? Why would you waste money on something like that?”

“John, Mike saw you one day and told me you might be homeless. I tried looking for you up and down the streets. I went to Mimi’s thinking maybe she knew where you were. Of course I used a fake name because she didn’t say very nice things about me. And before you snort and say you had it coming, I’m going to say it because I know, John. I know. It tore my heart apart to see you go, to say those things. I had to say them. When I found out you were, in a sense, ok, I wanted to make things right. I bought your things because I thought you might like a little familiarity.” Paul knew he jumped face first into the fire, but he couldn’t take John’s self-pity anymore.

“You had to? You had to leave? What kind of crap is that Paul?” John fumed, “Spare me your shit excuses. I lost so much, you have no idea what happened when you left. None. Everything went to shit. I drank, I lost the band, I barely made it through art school, I didn’t get a job, Mimi kicked me out, should I go on Paul? Are you going to say that I should’ve done something practical? Screw you, Paul.” John crossed his arms and turned his head to the window.

Paul’s reply was quiet. “No, John. I’m blaming myself for it all. I was forced to leave everyone and everything behind. It’s the truth. I’m just not ready to talk about it yet. So until I’m sure I can trust you and not have you ridicule me, you’ll just have to hate me.” He switched off the engine. “We’re here.”

~~~~

As soon as he heard Paul pull up, Mike switched off the T.V. Out the window, he saw Paul making frustrated gestures. Eventually, the receiver, who Mike assumed was John, relented and a pair of arms locked around Paul’s neck. Mike looked on as Paul assisted John. With his face cleanly shaven from the hospital, Mike saw how poor John looked. He looked nothing like Mike remembered save for the tuft of unruly auburn hair on his head. Mike also noticed that John resisted Paul at every step.

“I guess he didn’t quite get through to him yet,” Mike said to himself. He ran over to the garage door to help his brother.

“Paul, do you need…”

“No. I’m fine.” Paul snapped, clearly still upset with John.

Mike moved out of the way and looked at his brother and John. John really had no other option but to hold onto Paul. It didn’t look like he could walk on his own and he didn’t look happy about it. Mike knew Paul had a soft spot when it came to John and this time he had to protect Paul.

Paul hugged his brother from behind. “Hey, Mikey, I didn’t mean to bite your head off. John’s just frustrating me to no end.”

“I guessed as much. You didn’t tell him?”

“No. I can’t do it yet. Mike, we’ve had this secret for so long. You haven’t told anyone… Our parents know, I, well, you know, and you. That’s it. It’s not that I don’t trust John. I think he would understand, I really do. I just can’t.” Paul buried his head in Mike’s shoulder.

“It’s fine, Paulie. I can’t imagine how you feel. I mean, you experienced it first-hand.” Mike lowered his voice even lower, but John still heard every word.

He heard things that confused him. Paul had a secret, a big one, and he had also said ‘parents’, plural. John thought maybe Jim had gotten married.

Suddenly, a memory resurfaced. He vaguely remembered George saying something about Paul’s family having never heard of Mike nor Paul. John furrowed his brow, _what the hell happened?_

When John looked up, he was face-to-face with a serious looking Mike McCartney. He raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve changed, kid.”

“Funny what six years does to you.” Mike said with little emotion.

“Is there something you want to say?” John adjusted the tone in his voice to sound a little more confrontational.

"You know as well as I do that Paul has a soft spot for you, John and his judgement around you is clouded. Paul's protected me my whole life and now its my turn to protect him. If you even think about hurting him, John Lennon, I will beat the shit out of you."

John scoffed. "What are you? Thirteen? You think you scare me?"

"In your condition, you should be." With a light shove, John tumbled off the couch. "Paul! John fell off the couch!" Mike reduced his voice to a whisper, "And I can sick Mother McCartney on you too."

Paul lifted John up. "How did this happen?"

"I think he was trying to get up..." Mike shot John a look that said ' _I dare you. Who's he gonna believe'._

"I just tried to move a little and I guess I moved a little too much to the left." John said through gritted teeth. Once Paul made sure John was comfortable, he continued making dinner in the kitchen, leaving Mike alone again with John.

"You don't scare me anymore John," Mike spoke a little softer and kinder than before, "but Paul still loves you and I don't want to see him broken again. I have my brother back and I would like to keep it that way." Mike walked away to help Paul in the kitchen. John knew now he had to be careful. Mike's presence was unexpected. Plans had to be changed in order to make his scheme work.

John's stomach rumbled, disrupting his planning. The smell drifted from the kitchen and John realized Paul was making cookies. He groaned at the ache in his stomach. The doctor explained his condition quite clearly. Since it wasn’t quite life threatening, he was sent home with precautionary medications. John didn’t purposely starve himself, he wanted to eat. He was skinny, but with Paul, John was sure he’d be fattened up in no time.

“John?” Paul woke him from his thoughts. “Here, I thought you might want to eat so, I made you this. Well, when I say ‘made’…”

John looked in the bowl. “Cornflakes? You…you remembered that?”

“Of course.” Paul walked away, only to return with a cookie and a cup of tea. “I keep stocked on the cookies. There’s more in the oven.”

“Mmm…” John shook his head and woofed down the cornflakes.

“Don’t make yourself sick, Johnny.”

“‘m not.” He answered with a mouthful.

Paul let John eat as much as he wanted. He ended up finishing another three bowls and a turkey sandwich as well as four of Paul’s cookies.

Afterwards, John relaxed back into the couch to watch T.V. with Paul and Mike. Mike sat on the couch with John on the other end while Paul sat in the recliner, absentmindedly folding laundry while watching Jeopardy. John watched him answer a few questions and get ridiculed by Mike when he got one wrong.

Eventually, Mike stalked off to bed, grumbling about an early morning practice and sparing a glance for John. Paul wished him goodnight, returning his attention to the television. Paul had switched the channel to some show about ghosts and two men who apparently kill them by digging up their graves and burning them. John thought it was rather gory.

“I remember too, you know.” John suddenly said.

“What?” Paul dragged his attention to John.

“I remember your favorite food.” John half smiled at Paul’s astonishment. “Anything by Mrs. Harrison. You told me once that if you could eat one thing every day for the rest of your life it would be those vegetarian-shit burgers.”

“Hey. You never complained about her cooking. Although it is a wonder with how much food she always made, why George was so thin. I swear. Where did he put it all?” Paul laughed hard, making John’s heart do that thing he didn’t want it to do. He couldn’t feel this now. Not when he made a promise to make Paul hurt. He had to.

“I have to go to work tomorrow morning after I drop Mike off to practice. You’ll be here alone until Mike is dropped off by Mr. Henderson. But if you need someone here, I’ll take off.” Paul explained. John figured this would be the best way to get started on his plan, but seeing as he was bed-ridden, he’d have to wait.

“Normally, I’d say go to work because I could escape while you were gone. But, I am pretty much a cripple right now and I’ll need help going to the bathroom and stuff.” John couldn’t help but feel embarrassed about his current situation. When he looked up, however, Paul showed no signs of mockery or hatred.

“Ok. I’ll call in as I’m taking Mike. I should’ve thought. Sorry, Johnny.”

Eager to change the subject, John asked an unrelated question. “Can I get a pillow for the couch at least?”

“You’re not sleeping on the couch, John. You can have my bed. I’ll be on the couch. I’m not the one recovering.”

“Paul, I’ve slept in cardboard boxes. I…”

Paul used his best teacher voice. “Not up for discussion, John.”

“Did you just use your teacher voice on me?”

“Yes I did, John Winston Lennon.”

“Stop that.”

“No.” Paul raised an eyebrow to challenge him. John merely huffed in response.

“But seriously, John. I’m sleeping on the couch,” Paul stated, “I’m ready to go to bed too, so let’s get you into pajamas.”

“Fine, but no groping or staring, McCartney, or I’ll swat ya.” John crossed his arms.

Paul winked in return. “Deal.” John held up his arms like a child so Paul could lower his neck. Once he latched on, John’s fatigue settled in. Some strength returned to where he didn’t lean on Paul as much, but he knew he’d be sore tomorrow.

Paul led him to a small master suite with French doors leading to the bathroom. Jealously raged in his stomach at the thought of Paul living in this luxury while he lived in squalor. John tried to play on this feeling but Paul made it so hard. Paul cared so much, he literally had to treat John like a child and he did it without complaint.

When he dressed, Paul helped John into the bed and threw the covers on him. John felt the heaviness in his eyelids.

He handed John the T.V. remote. “Feel free to watch T.V. if you’re not tired or just sleep with it on. I’ll see you in the morning John.” Paul flipped off the light and shut the door. John did his best to fight the heaviness and was losing.

John whispered to the dark, “Goodnight, Macca.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter 5. I'm back from vacation and wrote two chapters while there. I was in Orlando (left a day before the horrible events down there) and my heart goes out to the victims and their families. I mention Orlando in this chapter just because I was there and I needed a city, there's nothing indicating anything other than a mention. I don't own The Beatles or associated. There's also a few places I mention that actually exist: Two Keys Tavern and Gratz Park. I don't own either of the names.

It was about a week and a half before John could walk completely unassisted. The first time, he walked with just the walls for support and he caused Paul to spill a glass of red wine down the front of his white t-shirt. John had laughed harder than he had in a long time. Paul turned the same shade of red as his newly-stained shirt. Concerned that John had done something to Paul, Mike ran in to check the commotion. When he entered, he joined in on John’s laughter. Paul threatened to burn their food and spit in it for good measure.

Paul relaxed as the days passed and John started to look healthier. Every morning while John couldn’t walk, Paul made sure to make breakfast in bed complete with pancakes, bacon, and milk or sometimes just a bowl cornflakes. As two weeks passed, John gradually became quieter. It worried Paul a bit, scared him even. He had to return to his summer work at the tutoring center and he wasn’t convinced that John would be there when he came back. While Paul only worked Monday through Wednesday, it was still an all-day thing.

“John, can I talk to you, please?” Paul decided he’d just ask John if he planned to leave. He heard a light shuffling from the front of the house and then John’s head poke out from around the corner.

John approached him slowly. “Yeah…”

“I have to go back to work tomorrow. Are you planning to leave or can I expect you to be here at four when I get back?” Paul attempted to keep his voice devoid of emotion.

“Why wouldn’t I be here? I know what I’ve said, but since when do you believe me?” Of course, John knew Paul would be leaving tomorrow and that Mike wouldn’t be back for another two days. He would finally be able to make good on his promises and take stuff to Sarah. He didn’t know what yet.

“Well…okay. If you do want to get out, I’m giving you these keys to the house. John, I’m putting a lot of trust in you. The last time I gave someone the keys to my house, they ended up screwing the gym teacher.” Paul pursed his lips, still a little bitter.

“Paul, I promise I won’t fuck the gym teacher,” John laughed and before he could filter his thoughts, he continued, “but the English teacher might have a chance.”

Paul’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud…I mean…I didn’t mean to say…”

“If you think that after just two weeks you’re going to get me into bed, you’re grossly mistaken, John Lennon.”

“That’s not what I…” John stuttered.

“I mean, you haven’t even asked me on a first date.”

Strangely out-witted by a smug Paul, John huffed and walked away. “Goodnight, Paul.”

“Night, Johnny.”

~~~~

John didn’t wake up until noon the next day. Stretching like a cat, John smacked a piece of paper on the pillow. He recognized the neat, girlish handwriting right away,

             

              _Dear John,_

_I’ve left you breakfast and lunch to heat up if you want. Be careful if you go out. It’s raining pretty hard. I’ve folded your new clothes and put them in the top drawer of my tall dresser._

_Love, Paul_

John leaned over in the bed and pulled aside the blinds. It really was raining hard and he decided Sarah could wait another day. He didn’t much feel like going and getting the new clothes wet and gross. Speaking of the clothes, John didn’t know Paul had bought him stuff. He had to wonder where the money came from. Certainly, Paul couldn’t afford everything on a teacher’s salary. As much time as John has spent around Paul, he really didn’t know anything about him. Every time he tried to pry, Paul changed the subject. John just couldn’t figure out what Paul and Mike were hiding. Instead of making himself crazy thinking about it, John decided he’d find his guitar.

He found the guitar tucked away in Paul’s closet with Paul’s old guitars. All of them had dust collecting which made John slightly angry, but he soon forgot when he found an equally dusty box supporting Paul’s bass guitar. Lifting the box into the light, John read the letters in Paul’s handwriting that spelled: _PAUL AND JOHN._

Curiosity got the better of him and he blew off the ten layers of dust and grime. John took a deep breath and opened the box.

Inside, John found pictures of them, handwritten lyrics, a broken guitar string, and notes passed between them. John couldn’t believe Paul had kept all these things. He spent the rest of the evening on the floor sifting through the contents of the box.

When Paul came home, John didn’t answer him and he worried that John didn’t end up staying after all. Walking back towards the bedroom, Paul found John still in his pajamas and sitting on the floor. He was surrounded by pictures and papers. By the look on John’s face, there had been tears.

“So you found that stuff, ey?” Paul finally spoke, causing John to whack his head on the dresser behind him.

“Uh, yeah, I was looking for my guitar.” John rubbed the sore spot on his head. “Which, by the way, you could’ve taken care of.”

“I couldn’t. I wanted to leave it the way it was and I got it from Mimi like that.”

“Eh. Why’d you keep all this stuff, Paul?”

“I just did. I held onto what I could. That guitar string is the one you broke during our first performance as a couple. You remember, it snapped on the first chord of the first song that night. You turned red from your neck up.” Paul chuckled, obviously fond of the memory. “You made me restring it. I really don’t know why I kept it, but I did. I tucked it away in my case.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, fucking embarrassing.” John scratched the side of his nose. “I can’t believe some of these notes. Was I really this sappy? Listen to this:

              _Dear Paulie,_

_I’ve been thinking lately and there isn’t one moment that I didn’t think of you_

_With love,_

_John._

John snorted. “God, what was I thinking?”

Paul joined John on the floor with a grunt. “About me apparently. I’m not sure I was much better. I can assure you my replies were worse. Flip it over.”

“Oh God, Paul…

              _Johnny,_

_As long as you’re thinking of me, the nights alone won’t be so bad. I’ll love you till the end._

_Paul._

John cackled. “You were great at the sappy shit, you know.”

“I still am, you dolt.” Paul winced as he stood up.

“Are you ok?”

“Huh? Yeah.”

“No you’re not.”

Paul glared at John. “Yes I am.”

“Is it your back?” John asked.

“Yeah, but I’m dealing.”

“It’s the couch. You’ve gotta sleep in the bed, Paul. I may still be angry with you, but I don’t want you to physically hurt yourself.”

“John, I appreciate it but I’d rather it be me than you. You’ve not gained the weight back that the doctor suggested.”

“Paul-”

“I’m trying to make food that has a lot of calories and fat-”

“Paul-”

“But I don’t know where you’re putting all that you’ve been eating-”

“Paul!”

“And you…what?”

John shook his head. “Your bed is big enough for two.”

“John, really?” Paul sounded astonished.

“Yeah, I mean, we can keep it platonic. We used to share my bed at Mimi’s all the time. How’s this any different.” John explained while absentmindedly thumbing through the photographs.

Paul’s heart beat fast. “I…sure. I’ll take the right.”

“Okay.”

Paul searched for anything that would suggest John wanted him too. Everywhere he looked, John either had no feelings anymore or he was just damn good at hiding it. Paul hoped for the latter.

“Uh, John, I just got off the phone with my parents and our family vacation is coming up in a few weeks.” Paul searched John’s body language and eyes for anything. “And they said it was fine if you came along.”

John’s attention shot to Paul. “Are you serious?”

Detecting no malice in the statement, Paul answered, “Yes, John, why do you think I wouldn’t be?”

“I just…you’ve been so reclusive when it comes to talking about yourself. The Paul that left me six years ago wouldn’t have given another thought to bragging about himself. You’ve changed. More than I thought.” John let his emotions run. Seeing all the stuff that Paul kept hit him hard. Each of the things spilled out in front of him told a different story about their lives. John reached down and ran a finger across his favorite of the photographs.

He and Paul stood on the stage at Two Keys, drenched in sweat and standing next to each other, but having the time of their lives. John remembered this night as the night he truly fell for Paul. They’d played to the biggest crowd they’d ever had and that crowd loved The Quarrymen. From then on, the manager at Two Keys requested them four or five times a week and on every Friday and Saturday night.

“And that’s a bad thing? I want you to get to know me, John, but like you said, I changed. I grew up John because I had to. I really don’t want to argue with you anymore. I’m hoping this vacation will open up some opportunities for us though. You know, to rediscover ourselves and whatnot.” Paul caught a glimpse of the weakness in John’s eyes. The suffering was still there, the hurt, everything that Paul wanted to heal was still existent in John.

“And where is this vacation?” John asked after a few moments of silence.

Paul’s eyes lit up a bit. “Orlando, Florida. Mike wants to go to Harry Potter World and I’m not going to deny that I wanna go too.”

“How is ol’ Jim McCartney affording all this?” John wondered out loud.

Paul physically shuddered at the name. “Uhm, it’s not him.” 

John got off the floor and sat down next to Paul on the bed. “What do you mean it’s not him.”

“He died a while ago, it was part of the reason I left. Mike and I were adopted. They assured me that Mike and I wouldn’t be separated, but as I was already seventeen, it was hard finding Mike _and_ I a home. They almost did separate us, but it all turned out okay in the end.” Paul refused to go any further than that. He just couldn’t tell John what really happened, not yet.

“Fuck, Paul. I didn’t…”

“No. It’s fine. They’re really great. I love them. A lot actually. They are so supportive of me. And Mike, especially Mike. He deserved so much, John, and Brian and Cliff gave it to him. They love him unconditionally and Cliff got him into football. Mike is so happy.”

“Are you?” John interrupted.

“Am I what?”

“Happy? Are you happy?”

“I am, Johnny. I really am. Especially now. I missed this. You. It seems like it will all be okay, now.”

“It does, doesn’t it…”

For the first time John didn’t know what to do.

****

Over the next three weeks, John had multiple occasions to leave Paul’s house and see Sarah. However, he kept finding things that distracted him. The first time was to clean his guitar and fix it up to working order and since John couldn’t stand to see any instrument decay and rot, he fixed up Paul’s too. That took him a week.

John’s second distraction came from Mike. He had just taken a shower and was looking for the clean laundry. Not thinking Mike was there, John intruded into his room in just a towel around his lower half. What John discovered was Mike with a girl.

“Whoops. Sorry, kid.”

“No. Wait!” Mike whispered something to the girl. “I need to ask you something, uh, that has to do with, um, Paul’s, uh, hat.”

“His what?” John snorted and tried to leave.

Mike sounded desperate, “John, can’t you just…”

“Alright, fine. What?”

Mike led John into the front room. “This is kinda embarrassing.”

“You’re thirteen, lad. Everything you do is embarrassing.”

“Come on, this isn’t funny.”

“Okay, okay. Just tell me.”

Mike’s face burned a bright red. “I’ve…well…I’ve never kissed a girl. I don’t know…”

John laughed heartily before replying. “Is there a reason you’re asking me and not Paul?”

“Because Paul’d give me some sappy love crap that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Hah. You’re right about that, son. He thinks he’s Shakespeare.”

“Yeah. So what do I do?”

“What? You want to kiss her now? Did you just meet her?”

“We go to the same school and stuff and I asked her out last week.” Mike shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“When I was your age…No. Not a good example. Uh, do you wanna know how I got Paul?”

“George locked you in a closet.” Mike deadpanned.

John stuttered, “Did Paul…?”

“No. My dads did actually. By accident, I guess Paul told them and they let it slip to me.”

“Yeah, okay, that was how we got together, but I had to be blatantly obvious with him. Brushing against his shoulder, accidental hand touches, feigning ignorance on guitar. Also, I stared at him. All the time. It might be different for this girl, though, Mike. Don’t rush things. Savor what you can and if she doesn’t like it, there will be someone for you who does.” John explained further, “Oh, and chances are, she hasn’t kissed anyone either. You’re thirteen for God’s sake. Now get back in there or she’ll think you ditched her for little ol’ me.” He hoped this was good advice. People tended to avoid him when asking for such things.

“Fine, don’t tell Paul.” Mike hesitated before joining his lady visitor. “Oh, and I’m not sure I heard you right. Did you say ‘ _stared_ at him’?”

John squinted at the younger McCartney. “That’s right.”

“I’m thinking it should be ‘stare’ not ‘stared’ because, you see, _stared_ is past tense and _stare_ is present tense.” Mike teased.

“Shut up and get in there before I walk in there in my birthday suit.” John was impressed by Mike. In a way, he acted like Paul. He could clearly see the same mannerisms and it was adorable but somewhat sad to John because Mike really only had Paul to look up to. John made a mental note to be Mike’s mentor on romantic situations even though Paul really was far superior at it.

~~~~

The last occasion that finally distracted John happened a week before vacation. John had collected a few things in a plastic grocery bag to take to Sarah. As he walked out the door, his phone rang. The screen lit up with a ridiculous picture of Paul crossing his eyes at the camera and “Macca” in big letters on the screen.

John tapped the green button. “Hello?”

“John?” Paul’s voice was shaky.

“Paul? You okay?” John set the bag of stuff down.

“I…no…no. John, I got mugged at gunpoint. They took my wallet and keys. I left my phone in the car and I have a spare key hidden under the front left wheel. I’ve locked myself in the car. I don’t know what to do.” Paul panicked.

“Paul? Paulie, stay calm. You’re alright. Where are you? I’ll…I’m calling your father. Just call the police and go somewhere else.” John really was worried. He’d never heard Paul so afraid.

“Please call me right back, Johnny. I’m gonna park in the University lot. The one right across from Gratz Park.” Paul shakily hung up the phone after being reassured that John would call him back. Raking his hands through his hair, he put the spare in the ignition. He dialed the police and explained his situation. A squad was on their way to meet him and he patiently awaited John’s call.

John dialed the number for Brian Epstein which Paul had put in his phone for emergencies.

“Epstein and Co. Records, this is Brian.”

“Uh, Hi, this is John.” John scratched his head, not fully knowing how to proceed.

“John who? I’m afraid I don’t know…”  

“I’m John Lennon, Paul’s ex. The one who’s been living with him.”

“Oh! You’re _the_ John.” Brian over-emphasized 'the' making John curious as to why. italicize

"We'll discuss that comment later, but Paul's been mugged and I can't drive."

"He's been what? Did he call you?" Italicize

"Just now. I need to call him back. Can you pick me up by chance at the house?" John silently pleaded that Brian would trust him even though he's never met him.

"Let me hand the shop off to my co-partner and I'll be there shortly." Brian hung up on John. Italicize.

John dialed Paul again while packing up some of his favorite cookies and a thermos of tea. Paul answered and told him the police had gotten there and he couldn't keep them. This left John to absentmindedly clean the kitchen and wait for Brian's arrival. Drowned in his own thoughts, John missed the knocks at the door.

"I've been knocking for five minutes, John."

John was so startled by Brian's sudden appearance that he almost dropped and broke Paul's favorite mug: The one that said teacher by day/rock star by night. John had convinced Mike to buy it for Paul.

"I'm sorry. Wasn't paying attention, but I'm ready." John grabbed what he labeled as the comfort bag.

Brian pointed at it. "What is that?"

John shrugged. “Just some of Paul’s cookies and some tea. Thought he might like it.”

Brian raised both his eyebrows. Even when Paul dated Dot, she never thought about that stuff. Brian realized that John still did care about Paul, even though he was hiding it. Paul had always described John as the “bad boy” type, however, in this moment, Brian didn’t see it.

“Oh, that’s thoughtful,” was all Brian could say.

“Paul wouldn’t hesitate if it was me, so…”

“That’s because he was raised that way, John. After all he went through with his biological father and having to raise Mike, he never thinks about doing things for himself. He told me when he was dating you, he played every note for you. Sure, he enjoyed it, but that big-headedness was his way of trying to make himself and everything perfect for you. All Paul wanted to do was please you.”

John became certain in this moment that something serious did happen between Paul and Jim McCartney. “What do you mean?”

“Did he not tell you about…I can’t. Paul’s sensitive about it. If he hasn’t told you, don’t take it personally. There are things even I don’t know about Paul’s past. Let’s go before Paul has a panic attack.”

John quickly followed Brian out to his car. “Hang on, figuratively or literally?”

“Figurative or literal what?”

“Panic attacks. Does Paul have them?”

“Not much anymore. It used to be bad and the medication he’s prescribed helps but I think he still suffers, just quietly. The first time I witnessed an attack I completely thought I was going to lose a son…”

John suddenly felt awful and he knew why he did. The things he thought about Paul, the things he thought about doing to Paul, made John’s stomach drop twenty feet down.

John breathed in a shaky breath. “He…he never said any of this to me.”

Brian gave him a sympathetic look. “I don’t know what to tell you, but just be patient. Let him come to you.” He frowned. “Oh, and if you hurt my son in any way, my husband _will_ come after you. He’s an ex-American football player and a former Marine.”

John groaned. “I think Mike’s gonna kick my ass first, but your husband can put me in my grave.”

“Good. Then the message is clear?” Brian smiled.

“Crystal.”

“Well, then, pleasure to meet you officially, John. I’m Brian Epstein, one of Paul’s fathers.”

Eager to get on his good side, John decided to try and make a little small talk. “Likewise. So you own Epstein and Co. Records?”

Brian beamed at the question, happy to talk about his success. “Well, I inherited the business from my father. I wanted to manage a band, you know, one who would make it big, but I make quite a living off the six stores I have placed.”

“I’ve nicked a few records from one of your stores when I was a teenager and so did Paul…mostly because I made him.”

Brian chuckled. “Paul told me.” He glanced at John who was playing with his hands. “We really are excited to have you on vacation.”

“I appreciate you allowing me to go. I’ve never been to Florida.”

Brian winked. “You didn’t hear this from me, but Paul kind of begged. He wanted you to go.”

John smiled in return and he saw something he hadn’t seen in a while: love. Brian Epstein and his extremely scary partner loved Paul and Mike. The type of love parents should have for their children. John decided that whatever happened to Paul wasn’t his business and if Paul wanted to talk, he’d listen. Right there, in that moment, in that car ride, something changed in John. At first, he didn’t know what it was, but he soon found out.

The pair rode the rest of the way in silence and when they reached the University parking lot, Paul looked to be finishing up with the police. Before Brian could fully put the car in park, John was already in a bee-line for Paul. Brian decided to observe them from a distance. Many a phone call at night let Brian know how much Paul wanted John back. He even knew now that John wanted Paul, too.

~~~~

“Paulie!”

Paul looked away from the officer still jotting down his information. He gave her a light ‘excuse me’ and took off towards John.

“Paulie, are you okay?” John lifted his hands to Paul’s cheeks and checked for any type of physical damage. Once satisfied, John pulled him into a hug tight enough to squeeze the air out of Paul.

“John. Johnny.” Paul croaked from the lack of air.

John let go. “Sorry.”

“I’m okay now, John, just a little shaken is all.” Paul leaned forward and placed his forehead on John’s shoulder. “And by the way, I didn’t say you could stop hugging me, you twit.”

John smiled into Paul’s hair and wrapped his arms around him again, this time less frantic. Happiness tugged at his heart and John let it warm the cobwebs and ice away. All the anger disappeared and was replaced by a red-hot passion of years lost. John felt truly happy.

“Mr. McCartney, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I just need to go over the details one more time to make sure they sound correct.”

Paul pulled away from John reluctantly, but held onto his hand. “I’m not sure there’s anything else.”

“Can I see the description of his muggers?” John asked, “I know the streets and the people on them.”

“I’m afraid-”

Paul interrupted her, “I’m going to tell him anyway. So might as well.”

The officer reluctantly handed John her notes on the perps. John instantly knew the two men who had attacked him: Basti and Muncher. Basti was homeless and Muncher just hung around the homeless hangouts, he had a run-down old apartment in the poorer part of town.

“The one that smelled like a sewer is Basti. I don’t know much about him, though. Said maybe two words to the guy. The one with the Jesus tattoo and the one who held the gun, that’s Muncher. Never spoke to him but heard that he lets people stay in his apartment on Thirteenth. That gun is fake, heard some of the others talking about it.” John prayed the information would help.

The officer quickly jotted down John’s information. “Thank you. That will be extremely helpful. Your information will be completely anonymous and Mr. McCartney, as soon as we find out something we’ll contact you.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Paul watched the officer put her things away in the squad and drive off.

“Let’s go, Paul. I brou-mmph.” John didn’t have time to react to Paul’s action. And he didn’t want to. He let himself completely melt into the frantic, passionate kiss, returning it with equal force and positioning his hands on Paul’s lower back.

The couple didn’t realize Brian Epstein stood behind them until he cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sirs, I don’t want to interrupt this snogging session, but I’m going to, so break it up.”

“Dad!” Paul shrieked an octave higher than normal, “How long…you brought…oh.”

“Poetic, Paulie.” John teased.

“Shut up, John.”

“Anyway,” Brian dragged out the word, “are you alright to drive yourself and John back home?” He tenderly brushed some hair out of Paul's face.

"Yeah. I'll be fine." Paul hugged Brian and whispered something in his ear.

Brian nodded to John and got in his car.

He started the car and rolled down the window. “You know boys,” he shifted into drive, “Make sure you use protection!” Brian quickly drove off leaving an embarrassed Paul and an amused John behind.

“I can’t believe he thinks…” Paul crossed his arms.

“What? You mean I’m not getting _anything_ tonight?”

“No! You’re not.”

“Not even a quick one in the backseat?”

“Just because…” Paul started to say, “What’ve you got there?”

“Some cookies and tea. Comfort food. People say it works to calm the nerves.” John really didn’t care about having sex with Paul tonight, believe it or not. He knew Paul was delicate now and much more damaged that he was. Of all things, John really wanted to make sure Paul was ok.

“Thanks, John. I wanna take this slow, you know, savor the things we took for granted.”

“Paul,” John spoke slowly, “You do what you have to. I was just having a little fun. As for me, though, I wouldn’t mind a nice cuddle.”

Paul laughed making John’s heart flutter again. “That I can do, Johnny.” Paul lightly kissed John on the corner of his nose.

It made John visibly shudder. “So you remembered that spot, ey?”

“I remember all your spots, John.” Paul ducked into the driver’s side, leaving John to groan loudly at the effect of Paul’s natural ability of seduction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions or anything, comments on here or to my tumblr (ringosliverpool8) are open. Thanks for reading and your kudos! It means everything to me! Oh! and next chapter will be all sorts of fluffiness and cuteness - sort of a filler chapter. The story will probably end in the next few chapters, but I'll be writing short snippets within this universe if you want. I just visited Harry Potter World and sort of got inspired to write The Beatles in that universe, but we'll see.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's number 6!! Hope you enjoy it. It's very dialogue heavy. I've managed to make ten chapters of this story but I promise there will be one-shots within this universe!!! Thank you guys for commenting and leaving Kudos! It really pushes me, you know? I don't own the Beatles or assoc. nor most of the place names I've mentioned. This is fiction... blah blah blah. ENJOY!!!! <3 RingosLiverpool8

For the rest of the night, Paul and John couldn’t keep their hands off each other. In Paul’s case, it was the disbelief that he had John back again and he wanted to make sure it wasn’t a dream. As for John, although he would never admit it, it was because he was afraid if he let go, Paul’d be gone.

John couldn’t shake the feeling that Paul’s mugging wasn’t a coincidence. Not wanting to spoil the moment, he pushed the thoughts away. He grabbed Paul’s waist from behind, placed a kiss on the back of his neck, and then snuggled his nose into his hair. Breathing in the scent of Paul’s hair, he accidentally let out a short moan.

“John?” Paul chuckled and turned around in John’s arms, “Are you smelling my hair?”

“Mmhm.” John smiled. “You smell like coconuts.”

“It is my shampoo, you know, the one you’ve been using.”

“I haven’t used yours. Been using Mike’s.”

Paul tilted John’s head downward and sniffed. “So you have. Then how come mine’s running out so quickly?”

“Well…it might be Mike. He’s been trying to impress some girl and he didn’t want me to tell you.”

Paul scoffed. “He talked to you about relationships?”

“I’m gonna be honest here, Paulie. Look at yourself. Relationships have always come easy for you because you’re good-looking. Stunning, in my opinion, but regardless, Mike doesn’t need someone to recite Shakespeare to him. And before you say anything, you would quote sappy shit at him.”

“Ok. Fine. But what does that have to do with my shampoo?” Paul folded his arms across his chest.

“Christ, Paul, you’re thick. Mike looks up to you, you know that. He wants to be like you because, like I said, it’s effortless for you.”

“It’s not effortless…” Paul defended.

John’s voice was calm. “ _I_ know it’s not, because, I mean, come on. You’re with me and I know I’m the cause of those gray hairs. But Mike doesn’t know that. Just let him do his own thing. He’s a teenager, not a child.”

Paul gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Mmm. Now, let’s make good on that cuddling.” John flung Paul by the waist towards the bedroom but Paul nearly face planted into the kitchen wall. “Sorry, Paulie.”

“Yeah, right.” With one quick glance behind him, Paul took off towards the bedroom. He heard John yell something behind him but he made it to the bedroom and shut the door. John’s footsteps could be heard outside in the hallway, so Paul climbed under the sheets and hid. Once he heard the door creak open, he started shaking from holding in his laughter.

“Now, I wonder what this person-shaped lump on the bed is?” John pounced on Paul, careful not to hurt him. He started poking Paul in the sides, causing squeaks to emanate from under the covers. Eventually, he just laid down like dead weight and rested his chin on Paul’s chest.

Paul curled his fingers around the edge of the covers and pulled them down to only reveal his eyes.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi.” John scooted up and pulled the covers to get to Paul’s lips. He wanted to explore every inch of Paul’s mouth and Paul let him. Paul placed his hands on John’s lower back under his shirt. The pair carried on and didn’t care how sloppy they got.

They broke apart, breathing heavily and they got up to throw on some pajamas. Paul was the first to curl back up under the covers and John nudged him to scoot over so he could get underneath, too. They then tangled up every part of themselves they could to minimize the space between them.

Paul yawned. “You look much better, you know.”

John snuggled deeper into Paul’s neck. “I better after all food you’ve been feeding me.”

“Mmm…” Paul allowed the exhaustion from the events of the day overtake him and he finally rested his hand, tucked into John’s hair.

John gave Paul one more kiss on the neck before drifting off into his own sleep.

~~~~

Paul hated his nightmares. They always came at inopportune times. This night, however, was one of the worst.  Up until this point, Paul’s dreams only ever had two characters, himself and his father, and the plot always remained the same: it was the night he killed his father. In this dream, the plot changed and one more character was added, John.

The dream started out per usual. Paul confronted his father about hitting Mike which caused his father to attack him. The difference in the dream came when his father tried to strangle him. Paul grabbed the knife but faltered when he heard John’s voice yelling “Paul!”. Jim McCartney quickly turned on the voice and grabbed the knife from Paul’s hand. Paul couldn’t move or speak no matter how much he tried yelling John’s name. There was nothing he could do as he watched the shadow of his father plunge the knife over and over into John’s body. He still couldn’t move. Jim stumbled towards Paul, blood dripping from the knife. Squirming in order to get away from his invisible bonds, Paul’s eyes met his father’s. The knife stabbed Paul’s heart.

Paul jolted awake, sitting upright in bed and drenched in sweat. Nausea hit him and he scrambled into his bathroom. He couldn’t help but cry as the contents of his stomach disappeared. Paul hated throwing up, especially when he was alone. So it surprised him when a cool, tender hand settled on his back.

“Paulie, it’s okay.” John whispered to the figure hunched over the toilet. He kept one hand on Paul’s back and raked the other through the sweaty mop of hair. Paul took in a shaky breath and pushed himself backwards to lean against the cool porcelain of the bathtub. John slid down next to him, grabbing Paul’s hand. They sat in silence until Paul decided to get up.

“Are you coming back to the room, love?” John asked.

Facing away from him, Paul nodded. John made his way back to the bed and listed to Paul brush his teeth multiple times. In the room, John laid on his back wondering what was wrong. Obviously, Paul could’ve just gotten sick, John knew that happened sometimes, but for some reason he didn’t think that was the case. Paul just seemed too shaken and too pale and he had been whimpering in his sleep as well as tossing and turning. John swore he even heard his name pleaded in desperation.

John sat back up when Paul came back in. He leaned over and kissed Paul. When Paul barely responded, he became worried.

“Paul, what’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

“‘m okay. Just a nightmare.” Paul still didn’t move much and John decided not to push it. He instead climbed on top of Paul.

John thought he would try something.

“Paul?”

“Hm?”

“I’m…” John shook his head realizing how cliché he was about to sound. “I’m gonna make love to you, okay? You can say no, love, I’m not forcing you.”

And without so much as a sound, Paul pulled John downward. The next thing he knew, he got lost in a haze of passion, hands, and John Lennon.

~~~~

The next morning, John turned over and fell onto a cold spot where Paul should have been. He worried about him, given the circumstances last night. Never had he seen Paul so unguarded and vulnerable.

“Paul?” John quickly threw on a pair of pants. In the kitchen, Paul was mixing something in a bowl and whistling an unknown tune.

“Paul?”

“Good Morning, John! I made us some tea and I’m mixing the batter for the waffles.” Paul said too chipper for John’s liking.

“You’re happy.” John said as more of a statement.

“Of course…John, I know last night probably scared the absolute shit out of you but I’m fine. I promise. The nightmares happen very rarely and I’m sorry you had to see it. I am. To be truly honest though, I don’t ever remember the dreams.” Paul lied. He certainly remembered the dreams, but the emotions he felt last night were much stronger than the dream.

John saw Paul’s walls back up again and he remembered what Brian had said. “Okay…So, where are these waffles?

Paul laughed and kissed John. “Thank you.”

“Mmhm. That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“I have to finish mixing the batter.” Paul grabbed the whisk from the bowl and continued mixing. “Oh, and Mike comes home from his friend’s house today. Sometime this afternoon, I think.”

“I don’t think he’ll be surprised about us.”

“He won’t care either,” Paul added.

John nodded in agreement. “So are these waffles gonna be like the burgers you tried to make us?”

“You just _had_ to bring that up?” Paul huffed.

John laughed hard at the memory. “I’m sorry, but when you see Harrison turn down food…”

“It was my first time using a grill,” Paul defended, “you would’ve done the same thing…No. You would’ve set them on fire and we woulda eaten ashes.”

“At least you can bite through ashes. You served us rocks on a bun.”

“Oh, shut up, John. You’re really full of it, you know?”

“Just ask George and Ringo. Rocks, they’ll tell you.”

“Ask George and Ringo…” Paul put down the batter. “We should find them. Maybe call them. God knows I need to apologize to them both.”

“You’re not alone there, Paulie. I gave George a black eye, on accident of course. And Ringo, he just kinda left and I never heard from him. I talked to George one more time after I broke up the band.”

Paul served John the first waffle. “They can’t have gone far. I bet Ringo still works at the car dealership. George, hell, I don’t know what he would’ve done. Maybe he became famous and we just don’t know.”

John dove into his waffle and spoke between bites. “Or he owns his own guitar store. I remember he said something about building his own guitar.” He swallowed another bite. “I’ll poke around the internet.”

“If you don’t find anything,” Paul ate a bit of his own waffle. “I’ll drive over to Louise Harrison’s place. I bet she still lives there.”

After cleaning the kitchen and a small flour fight, the couple cuddled up on the couch with Paul’s laptop. John wanted to be the one typing things in, so he googled Richard Starkey first. As it turned out, Paul was right. Ringo did still work for the Ford Motor Company in town, but he was the head mechanical engineer. He had a biography on the company’s website. Ford had paid for his education after being a loyal employee and rising in the ranks. Paul wrote down his contact information.

“Wow. I just don’t believe it.” Paul chuckled. “I bet Ringo’s loaded with money.” Paul kept scrolling, reading Ringo’s entire bio. “There’s nothing in here about being called Ringo, I guess he chopped that.”

“That and the actual rings.” John zoomed in on his picture. “He hasn’t changed though. Still got the large nose.”

Paul rolled his eyes playfully. “Leave him alone about that.”

“Whatever. I’m searching George now.” John switched tabs on the browser and went back to the Google page.

“You know you can search up there. You don’t have to go back to Google every time.” Paul mentioned.

John merely glared at Paul in response. “Let’s just find George, sparky.”

It took them a while to find the right George Harrison. They had to refine their search to ‘local’. After about three full search pages, they were about to give up when the fourth page came up with a Facebook page for ‘Harrison Guitar Lessons”. John clicked on the link and sure enough there was a picture of George with his guitar and a phone number.

Paul jotted down the number and asked excitedly. “Perfect. Do you want to call George or Ringo?”

“George,” John answered quickly, “You can talk to the big ass company people.”

“Fine.” Paul handed John the laptop and dialed the generic number he wrote down for Ringo. The phone rang three times before a woman picked up.

_Ford Motor Company, this is Maureen. How can I help you?_

“Hi, I’m…um…Paul Epstein from Paul Laurence Dunbar High School. I’m a senior English teacher and an advisor for underprivileged kids in their search for college. I was only wondering if I could get a phone interview with Mr. um Richard Starkey about his success story.”

_Just one moment, Mr. Epstein. I’m checking your background if you don’t mind. It’ll just be a moment._

“Sure.” Paul bit his nails in anticipation.

_I’m only seeing a Paul McCartney._

“Oh, right. Professionally, I kept my birth name. I was adopted by Brian Epstein of Epstein and Co. Records.” Paul lied calmly to the receptionist on the phone.

_Oh, I see you under Brian Epstein’s biography. There’s a Paul and a Mike._

“You’re very thorough.”

_I have to be for Richard’s sake. Lots of press calls._

“I understand.” Paul stated politely.

_Well, Mr. Epstein, I’m directing your call to Richard now._

“Thanks.” Paul said to the strange elevator-like music blaring into his ear. Thank God he only had to listen to a few bars when the familiar voice picked up.

_This is Richard Starkey._

“You’ve got a very good secretary, there, Ringo.”

_It’s been a while since I’ve heard that nickname. Do I know you?_

“Yeah, you do. It’s Paul McCartney.” Silence followed Paul’s admittance. He about repeated his name when Ringo finally responded.

_Paul? What the hell happened to you, son?_

“Ah, it’s a long story, Rings. My dad died and Mike and I were adopted.”

_Christ, Paul. You know, John was really upset after you dumped him. I mean, he drank himself into a stupor. I wouldn’t be surprised it killed him._

“Who? John? Nah. He’s fine. We’re, um, actually back together now.” Paul said nervously.

_Really? That’s fantastic. Say, d’y’know what happened to George, then? I haven’t spoken to him since John broke up the band._

Paul scratched his head. “John should be on the phone with him now. I know John went crazy and smashed a beer bottle on someone’s head and elbowed George in the face. He told me.”

_Yeah. Me ‘n’ George had to hold him back. That’s when George got the elbow. I’m really happy for you and John. You sound good, Paul._

“Thanks, Rings. So I guess I really wanted to invite you over for dinner Thursday night, if you wanna come.”

_Yeah! Of course, Paulie. Let me give you my personal phone number. I’m bringing my wife along if that’s alright?_

“Of course. And congrats on getting married.” Paul scribbled down the new number for Paul and waved off John who was trying to get his attention. “Thanks, Ringo. John’s here if you want to speak to him.”

_Certainly. I wouldn’t mind meeting you guys for lunch tomorrow, actually._

“Really? Ok. I’ll have to bring Mike along; he stays with me in the summers.”

_Not an issue, Paul._

“Well, it was great talking to you, Ringo. I look forward to tomorrow. Here’s John.” Paul passed the phone to John. “Ringo wants to talk to you. Did you talk to George?”

“No. Went to voicemail.” John took Paul’s phone. “Try again later, I suppose.”

Paul placed his hands on his hips. “Did you leave a voicemail?”

“No.”

“Jesus Christ. Give me the phone.” Paul held out his hand.

John made a face at him as he passed over his phone while also saying ‘hello’ to Ringo. Paul redialed George’s number and it picked up after a few rings.

_Hello? This is George Harrison._

Paul had to stifle a laugh because George sounded exactly the same. “Hey, Geo. It’s Paul.”

_Paul who?_

“McCartney.”

Silence.

“George?”

_The fuck, Paul? Where the hell’d you go, mate?”_

“It’s like I told Ringo. It’s a long story.”

_I’ve got time._

“Georgie. I don’t really like to talk about it. John doesn’t even know.”

_Wait. You talked to John?_

“Well,” Paul smiled, glad he didn’t detect any malice in George’s tone. “We’re kinda back together now. Johnny tried to call you earlier, but the twit didn’t leave a voicemail.”

_He about broke my nose._

“I know. He told me.”

_Well. It’s really good to hear your voice, Paul. Can’t you tell me anything about where you went? I’ve thought the worst for years, man._

Paul sighed. “Dad died and Mike and I were put in foster care and eventually adopted.”

_I didn’t know Jim died. I’m sorry, Paul. I thought maybe he found out about you and John and moved you off somewhere._

“It’s in the past now and we wanted to invite you to dinner Thursday night.”

_Hell, yeah. What’s your address? What time? I guess I should give you my number._

“Uh, we’ll eat around five-thirty but you can come whenever.”

_Alright. I’ll come around four. He - SHUT UP, ROGER! - sorry here’s my number, are you ready?_

“Yeah.” Paul wrote down George’s number under Ringo’s. “Uh, Geo, who’s Roger?”

_My roommate. An asshole. Both apply._

“I guess I could say that about John, too.” They both laughed and Paul felt elevated by it. He didn’t realize how much he missed George. George had been his best friend and he’d been there when no one else was.

_Where is John, anyways?_

“Still talking to Ringo. I’ll let him know you want to talk to him.” Paul kept the phone on his ear, hearing arguing on George’s end.

“Sounds great, Ringo. We’ll see you Thursday.” John hung up the phone and almost ran into Paul.

‘George’. Paul mouthed.

John smiled almost evilly and quickly snatched the phone away from Paul.“Well! If it isn’t our darling Georgie Porgie.” He put the phone on speaker.

_-e’ve only just started talking and you’re already getting under my skin. It takes a special kind of person to do that, Lennon._

“Aw, come on, George. I’ve only missed you is all.”

_You get off on this. I know you do._

“Of course I do, son.”

_Good to talk to ya, Johnny._

“Bloody hell, Geo, what’s that sound?”

 _Damn it. ROGER! I WILL KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP. It’s my roommate. It’s wine and women all the way with him. A little like you John, except he doesn’t have a_ ‘Sexy McCartney’ _to give him-_

“Hey!” Paul yelled from the other room. George and John cackled at Paul’s expense.

“Well, Georgie Porgie, I guess we’ll see you Thursday then?” John taunted once more.

_Piss off John. I’m coming to see Paul, not you._

“Fine by me. I’ll see ya later, George.”

_Bye, Lennon. Paulie._

John hung up and looked for Paul. He found him folding laundry. Only trying to help, John got his hands slapped for folding the towels wrong. Despite Paul’s protests, John purposely started messed things up. The two of them ended up throwing clothes at each other, laughing like hyenas. When the war ceased, John approached Paul, waving a pair of white underwear in the air.

Paul eyed John suspiciously. “What?”

John picked up the sock hanging on Paul’s shoulder. “Nothing.” He kissed Paul lovingly before whacking him with a rolled towel and taking off towards the front of the house.

Paul ran after him, shouting, “That’s cheating!”

John made it to the front room where Paul tackled him on the couch there. “Now, Paul. You’re almost 24 years old. You shouldn’t be acting like this.” He mocked in a fake posh accent.

“And you are 25, you dolt.”

“But I don’t claim to be a _professional_.” John put an extra emphasis on ‘professional’.

“You got that right, Lennon.” They stared at each other, tangled up on the couch.

“Well…I’m waiting.” Paul poked John impatiently.

“For what?”

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

“No, but you can kiss me.” John smiled.

“Fine.”

“What did I just walk in on?” Mike stood astonished at the sight in front of him. Paul and John howled at Mike’s mix of emotions on his face: disgust, surprise, and maybe a little annoyance.

“Hello, Mike. Haven’t you heard of knocking” John didn’t move from his spot on top of Paul.

“Haven’t you heard that this is my house, too.” Mike made a fake gagging noise. “It’s about time though. The sexual tension and emotional stench around the place was getting too much to handle.”

“I’m so sorry, Mike.” John gasped dramatically, “I really should’ve thought of your feelings. Is it alright that I fucked-”

“John!” Paul hit John hard on the back of the head.

“Ouch!” John rubbed the back of his head. “I was only joking with the kid, Paul.”

“You didn’t have to use such colorful language.”

“He’s thirteen, Paul, not three.”

“I kn-”

“Really,” Mike interrupted, “I’d like to hear more of this argument, but violent video games are calling my name and not to mention you two are absolutely disgusting.”

“Oh, then I guess I should mention we used your bed last night!”

Paul buried his face in his hands, trying not to laugh.

 

“Oh, God!”

~~~~

The new couple spent the next few hours rearranging some things in Paul’s room to accommodate John a little more. They still couldn’t keep to themselves, much to Mike’s chagrin. To Mike it seemed like every room he walked into, John and Paul were snogging or close to it. It wasn’t so much that Mike was disgusted by it, but rather annoyed. He really felt happy for Paul and John, but nevertheless, they acted like teenagers.

As tomorrow rolled around, Mike vocally expressed how much he didn’t want to go to lunch with John, Paul, and Ringo.

“Mike, really? Ringo offered to pay for our meals, so you’re going.” Paul slapped John’s hand away so he could tighten John’s tie.

“Why’d he have to pick such a posh place?” Mike groaned and shifted around in his monkey suit.

“Mike, I’ve heard enough. Stop complaining. I’ve told you before, Ringo didn’t pick it. He got roped into it.”

John shot Mike a sympathetic look. “It’ll be over before you know it. Just listen to him.”

“Fine. But can you at least keep the touching and snogging to a minimum?”

John and Paul exchanged glances and said together, “Deal.”

It really wasn’t until the last minute that Ringo told them the change of plans. John had to calm Paul down after Paul realized that John didn’t have a formal suit to wear. He had to call Brian and ask him to quickly bring on of his old ones. Luckily enough, they found one that fit him. John complained about wearing the suit and gave Paul a few choice words of his own which Paul elected to ignore. John knew he’d never win a war with Paul McCartney.

Arriving at the restaurant, Paul wasn’t in a great mood. The collective efforts of John Lennon and Mike McCartney caused them to be late to lunch. An unhappy Paul and a smug John and Mike walked into the restaurant quite uncomfortably. The hostess didn’t bother to address them as they walked in.

“Excuse me,” Paul politely addressed the hostess. She reluctantly looked up from her podium and sized Paul up and down.

“Excuse me, but we’re supposed to meet Ring-, er, Richard Starkey. We’re a little late.” Paul glanced sideways at John and Mike. The hostess didn’t answer him, but instead looked over them in disgust.

John had enough. “Listen, darling, when someone asks you a question, you answer. It’s called manners. I may not look like a million bucks, but I do know manners. And you, luv, you don’t seem to have any.” His attempt to attract attention worked as a manager had joined the hostess, who Paul noted gleefully, was shaking from John’s verbal assault.

The manager looked down at John. “What seems to be the issue?”

“I’ll tell you the issue,” acid rolled off John’s tongue, “You and this girl here have a silver spoon shoved so far up-”

“John! Paul!”

Paul sighed in relief. “Ringo, thank God.”

Ringo hugged them all, including a mortified Mike McCartney. “I thought it was you all. There’s no one else I know that can make a sailor blush quite like John Lennon.” He turned and addressed the hostess and manager, “I thought I made it clear that I had three more guests coming?”

“I apologize, Mr. Starkey, we didn’t think-”

“Aye, you didn’t think what?”

“Nothing, sir, we apologize.”

“Thank you, now,” Ringo turned back to his guests. “Let’s eat. I’m sorry for the abrupt change in plans, guys, but these corporate robots I work for insisted that I had lunch with them. I tried pretty hard to get away. I don’t even like this place. There’s this amazing drive-in that I wanted to go to.”

“It’s alright, Ringo, we don’t want to inconvenience you.” Paul explained with a happy smile.

“Believe me, you guys are a relief from all this.”

John squeezed Ringo’s shoulder. “You’ve done well, Rings.”

“Thanks, John.”

The party joined a medium sized table with four other men and one woman. They all ceased talking as Ringo towed in his guests. John seriously debated giving one of them a nice punch in the face, but resisted for both Ringo and Paul’s sake.

“So,” Ringo broke the silence, “These are some childhood friends of mine: Paul McCartney and his brother Mike and John Lennon.”

“Pleasure to meet everyone.” Paul nodded and glared at John and Mike again. They both grumbled out a quick ‘pleasure’.

“‘ey, Ringo, where would you like us to sit?” Paul asked.

“Ringo?” One of the men eyed Paul quizzically.

“That would be a nickname, Jerry.” Ringo explained flatly to the inquirer. 

The group laughed and another one of the men spoke jovially, “Is that a possible office nickname then, Richard?”

“No and I’ll thump ya a good one if any of you call me that.” Ringo seemed to sneer at all of the men at the table. John snickered.

“Sorry, Richard. No need to snap.” The same man defended.

“That nickname isn’t one of mockery, either. It’s one of endearment.” Paul gained a little confidence. “Ritchie here is one of our best friends.”

“Well,” the lone woman of the group said, “any friends of Richards are more than welcome.” The other men at the table seemed to shrink away as this woman spoke. Her demeanor suggested one of power and she was. This woman, Ringo later told Paul, was his boss. She studied under some of the best in the world. Ringo felt even more at ease when he learned that Paul taught his boss’ daughter.

“Mr. McCartney, I have to say, my daughter loved your class so much. She never stopped talking about it and you. I’ve never heard her call a teacher _cool_ before.”

“She was one of my best students, actually. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a great class. She should’ve been in the upper level. I made her sign up for it the next year. She came and told me she passed her AP examination.” Paul relaxed more as the lunch progressed. He liked the intelligent conversation with Ringo’s boss and he couldn’t help but smile at John and Mike who had the whole group in stitches from laughter. The lunch party took well to John’s quick wit and Mike’s sarcasm.

As much as John hated the idea, he had fun. He sorely missed Ringo and joking around with him. John felt like his life was being put back together. Paul was his and Ringo was his friend again. There was one more thing, though, that John knew he needed to do: he had to call Aunt Mimi.

~~~~

After all the goodbyes and hugs were exchanged, Paul, John, and Mike headed back to the car.

Once inside, John decided he’d ask Paul about Mimi. “Hey, Paulie, can we make a quick stop.”

Paul fiddled with the radio stations. “Yeah, where?”

“I want to go see Mimi.”

Paul made stern eye contact with him. “Are you sure, Johnny? I will, you know, but I want to make sure you really want to.”

“I’m sure. Even if she screams and sends me away, I’ll know I tried. She’s the only family I’ve got left.”

“Of course, John. I understand.” Paul gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“I THOUGHT WE HAD A DEAL!” Mike yelled from the backseat.

Both John and Paul held up both their hands. “Sorry!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day early for you all!!!! Here's the next chapter. Kinda short and a little boring... but I'm hitting some major writers block and I'm gonna work on the HP crossover until I find some inspiration. I wouldn't mind some suggestions from you guys too. Constructive criticism. :D
> 
> ALSO!!! TOMORROW IS RINGO'S (my favorite Beatle in case you didn't know) BIRTHDAY. 12:00 PEACE AND LOVE.

Mike never met Mary Smith, or as John called her, Aunt Mimi. All he remembered about the woman was how much John complained about her and how Paul always said she called him a street urchin. Despite that, Mike understood where John was coming from as much as Paul. Paul wasn’t the only one who missed their family and wished things were different. The two McCartneys had no blood family left except each other.

The way to Mary’s house sparked a few flames of memory for Mike. He couldn’t recall a face for her but he vaguely remembered a red-head.

“Hey, I’m trying to remember, is Mimi the one with the red hair?” Mike asked.

“Uh, no, Mike. That’s-”

John cut off the rest of Paul’s sentence. “That was my mother. She died.”

“I’m sorry, John. I guess I didn’t remember that.” Mike apologized.

“Kid, you were seven. I don’t expect you to remember everything and it doesn’t bother me anymore to talk about her. Not anymore.” Paul reached over and squeezed John’s hand in his own.

Mike didn’t remember his mother because she died giving birth to him. All he had were pictures of her in Paul’s photo album. John and Paul both remembered their mothers and that they had both died at important times in their lives and they bonded over their deaths. So Mike decided to let this moment happen because he saw something in Paul’s eyes that made him feel sad and he couldn’t figure out why. He thought he would ask Paul later.

Paul parked a little way down the street because he insisted that Mimi would recognize his car from the last time they visited and despite Paul’s protests, John made him come with him.  He argued that since he and Mike dressed up in nice suits and behaved perfectly throughout the lunch, Paul owed him. Eventually, John won the argument, earning a high-five from Mike for actually winning against politician Paul. Paul would never live it down.

“John, I told you that she didn’t say very nice things about me last time.” Paul complained.

“Yeah, well, you’re with me now and if the scary old woman tries to bully you again, I’ll protect you.” John remarked with sarcasm. As he reached for the door, he realized his cat was still alive. He smiled and rapped on the door. Glancing back at Paul, he ran his hand down Paul’s arm to calm him down, leaving his back to the door.

“Mr. Epstein, I’m surprised-” Mary Smith ceased talking as John turned around to face her.

John felt like he was fifteen again under the unwavering gaze of his Aunt Mimi. “Hi, Mimi.” John was glad of two things: one, Paul was right behind him with a hand on his back and two, he wore a nice suit.

Mary stared hard at John and he thought she would just stand there, but he was wrong.

“JOHN WINSTON LENNON. DO YOU KNOW HOW WORRIED I’VE BEEN?” She grabbed John by the shirt collar and drug him inside.

Paul tried to intervene. “Wait! Mrs. Smith!”

She stopped to address him. “I will talk with you shortly, Mr. Epstein,” And she slammed the door in his face.

Inside his childhood home, John felt scared to death without Paul. He had no idea what Mimi was going to do to him and he had no idea what she’d do to Paul.

The house looked much the same as the last time he saw it. He even had to fight the urge to run up to his bedroom and yell ‘fuck off, Mimi’. Pacing around, he realized that his pictures were still on the wall and on the mantle. Mimi hadn’t completely erased him from history.

“John Lennon, you owe me an explanation.” She handed him a cup of tea and motioned for him to sit down.

John took it with a smile and placed it down on the coaster. Mimi just looked at him, waiting for a reply. After all these years she had to know why John suddenly showed up on her doorstep wearing a nice suit and with Mr. Epstein nonetheless. It was curious to her that a few months ago, Mr. Epstein came asking about John and ended up buying John’s guitar and now he shows up with John a few months later. Mimi began to think Mr. Epstein isn’t who he says he is. Her thoughts were running every which way trying to form the most logical reasons.

She was, however, distracted when she found John’s arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry, Mimi. I know I’ve hurt you.”

“Now, that’s quite enough, John,” she stated but made no attempt to push him off.  “I still want an explanation.”

John let go. “I can’t do it without the person you left standing on the front porch.”

“What does Mr. Epstein have to do with this?” Mimi pursed her lips, at least trying to pretend she wasn’t the least bit interested.

John chuckled at the thought that Paul actually tricked his Aunt Mimi. “Mimi, Epstein isn’t his last name. He told you that because he didn’t want you to throw the tea kettle at him.”

Mimi took in a sharp breath. “Then who is he?” She was appalled someone would lie to her.

“You really don’t recognize him?”

“If I did, John, I wouldn’t be asking.”

“It’s Paul. My Paul.”

Mimi’s eyes widened and she immediately stalked off. John winced, knowing that she’d be dragging Paul in by his ear. And he certainly was. Paul made his way next to John quite red-faced.

“I want an explanation. Now. I am not asking again.” Mary Smith put her foot down. She didn’t want any more nonsense from John or that street urchin he always brought around. Especially since she knew that he was the reason John ruined his life.

The boys recounted their story as accurately as possible for her. Some things John said, Paul had no idea about. John never mentioned actually completing his degree and he never mentioned being kicked out of his college apartment. Paul made sure to leave out the part about his father and he thought it interesting that John didn’t mention their relationship at all.

“Well, John. I hope you’ve learned your lesson. You better not run off and do something like that again.” She said at the end of their story. John looked at Paul and then at her. There was no way that was it…there should be more yelling.

“I won’t. I’ll be six feet under before I even think about it. I have quite a queue of people who threatened to if I do.” John told her, still in shock by the lack of a verbal beating.

“What do you mean?” Paul questioned.

“Mike, Brian, Cliff, and now Mimi.” John counted on his fingers and thought for a moment. “I guess you should have a spot there, too, Paulie. Sorry Mimi, you’ll have to wait behind four people to get your kill shot at John Lennon.”

“I didn’t know they threatened you.”

“You’ve got a loving family, Paul.” John teased.

Mimi appraised Paul. “You turned out to be a nice young man, Paul. Perhaps you can do the same with John.” With that, she began cleaning up the tea cups and saucers.

John leaned over and whispered in Paul’s ear, “She wouldn’t be saying that if she knew what you were doing to her Johnny behind locked doors.” Paul glanced at Mimi and blushed.

The change of color went unnoticed by her. “John, come help me in the kitchen.”

“Okay…” John got up to follow Mimi in the kitchen with a shrug towards Paul.

“What do you need, Mimi?” John asked, leaning against the counter.

She cleaned out the cups with running water, keeping her back to her nephew. “I need to tell you something. Unless you already know that is.”

“What are you on about?”

“I’m remembering a little about Mr. McCartney in there from when you had him over here. All the time.”

“You can call him Paul and what?” John’s heart jumped. He thought maybe Mimi knew about their relationship even though he never told her. There was a chance that Mimi probably poisoned Paul’s tea.

“He used to come over with a lot of bruises if I recall.” The dishes clanged in the sink as she finished washing them. John grabbed a towel and started drying them off.

“Well, he was a bit of a klutz. Always accident prone.” John had to wonder what Mimi was getting at.

“John, in the time that you’ve recently been around him, have you seen him fall or trip constantly?”

John scrunched his eyebrows. “I…no. No I haven’t.”

Mimi clicked her tongue. “There was something about the story he told that didn’t seem right. John, this may be hard for you to hear, but I think Paul was being beaten by his father.”

“That’s ridiculous. He would’ve told me…” John began to doubt the statement as soon as it came out of his mouth.

“Not necessarily. I’m going to run upstairs for a moment.”

John watched her go and immediately ran to Paul.

“Does she know we’re a couple, John?” Paul asked as soon as he entered the room.

“I…what?”

“Does she know we’re together, John?”

“No. I never told her. But don’t start with that. You never told Jim.” John made it sound like he was defending himself, but he tried to get a reaction from Paul.

Paul’s voice lowered. “He was different.”

“How was he different than Mimi?”

“Not now, John. I can’t…”

John ignored the twisting in his stomach at the visible hurt on Paul’s face. “Paul, I’m beginning to think this whole thing with Jim is a cover for something else and you’re using it as an excuse to barricade yourself up. I feel like you don’t trust me.” He did feel that way but regretted saying anything because Paul looked as if he was about to shatter into pieces.

Paul didn’t know where John’s outburst was coming from and he fought back the urge to cry and just spill everything. “Now isn’t the time, John. Please. I need time.”

“I’ve…I give up.” John’s face fell into his hands. There was no way he could keep up when Paul looked like a child who’d just been scolded by Aunt Mimi.

Paul’s heart leapt into his throat, making it hard to swallow. “Give up? What are you saying?” A whole list of scenarios flashed in his head. He didn’t know which way John was heading. So many questions. Paul wanted to run.

“I know, Paul.”

“Know what?”

“About Jim.”

“What…”

“Why didn’t you tell me he hit you?”

“I…John…it’s complicated.” Paul had to admit he relaxed a little. A little. He was glad that’s all he knew.

“I coulda helped. I coulda beat the shit out of him. I coulda…” John stammered.

“That’s why, John. He would’ve hurt you. I know you thought you were big and scary but that’s because everyone our age thought so. Jim was different, he wasn’t 15. He would’ve killed you. I never told him about us because you were in the picture and I don’t think I could have lived with myself if he got his hands on you, too.”

“Too?” John whispered, inching closer to Paul. He hated seeing Paul cry, no matter how adorable he looked with his rosy, wet cheeks and glossy eyes. If this was ten years ago, John might have picked on him for it, but now he all he wanted was to lie down in bed and never let go.

“Mike. Jim hated him.”

“Paulie, love, I…” John trailed off after hearing Mimi’s footsteps down the stairs. He started to let go of Paul’s hand, but a glance at Paul changed his mind.

Paul cleared his throat. “Mrs. Smith! I have to get the recipe for these biscuits. They’re very good.” He thought maybe Mimi wouldn’t notice the signs of crying on his face because she didn’t make a comment that he was being frivolous and childish.

“Thank you, Paul. I have an extra copy in the kitchen. I’ll be right back. I unfortunately have to meet up with my book club so I will have to leave soon.” She wandered off into the kitchen and the boys heard papers shuffling around.

John pulled the hand he was holding just enough to bring their faces together and they kissed. No funny tricks or seductive moves, John just kissed him. Paul relaxed into it, feeling everything wash away.

“JOHN WINSTON LENNON.”

Paul snorted quietly after John jerked away. “I think you’ve just told her. Should we run, or…”

John flinched. “Well, I guess we have more explaining to do.”

~~~~

In the end, Paul got the biscuit recipe and by extension, Mimi’s approval. She was shocked at first but soon turned her wrath on John for not telling her in the first place. John even confessed there were times when Paul would sneak out and come sleep in John’s bed. Mimi, however stern she might have looked, felt a weight lift off her shoulders. Her Johnny was happy and thus she was happy. Although she would never admit it, she liked Paul. Never had she imagined that she would actually like one of John’s friends (or should she call him _boyfriend_?). Paul might have come from a different social circle than she did, but he had manners, nonetheless and he _could_ get John to listen and behave. She told them goodbye, letting herself relax as Paul and her little Johnny walked hand in hand down the street.

She had one more thing to say, “Glasses, John!”

Paul doubled over in laughter at John’s groan.

As happy as John was in the change in Paul’s mood, he still grumbled at him, “What could you possibly be laughing at, hm?”

Paul mustered the best posh accent he could, “‘Glasses, John!’” and he laughed again. With his new pair of glasses situated on his face, John smiled a bit, just glad to see Paul laughing. After all, those laugh lines around his eyes are one of, in John’s opinion, Paul’s most adorable features and John would be sure to tell him after Mike had gone to sleep.

****

_Thursday_

John got yelled at six times already, he was sure…because he counted. George and Ringo were coming over in a few hours and Paul made them all get up at six in the morning. Paul decided he needed to do a total cleaning of an already spotless house. John knew better than to try and reason with Paul when he got like that, but he still had to say something because he was John Lennon and he had to have the last word.

“The house isn’t going to get any cleaner. You run a tight ship, luv.” And John counted seven times he got yelled at.

“Spare me, John. I can’t get things done when you’re constantly complaining. We don’t-”

“Paul!” John had enough, “It’s George and Ringo, not the bloody Queen. The house is fine, you’re the one who’s a mess right now. So quit yellin’ at me and go take a shower.”

Paul sighed and leaned into John’s chest. “You know George probably thinks he’s the Queen.”

“There you are. I almost didn’t recognize you under all that pent up anger.” John hugged him tight. “Now really. Go take a shower.”

Paul grabbed the bath towels from the hook in his closet. A nice hot shower would do him some good no matter how much he didn’t want to admit John was right. Everything looked fine and he knew that. George and Ringo could care less. He hummed an old tune and bumbled around in the bathroom. The temperature had to be just right, so he turned the hot and cold dials back and forth, testing the water with his feet and hands. Satisfied, Paul stripped himself of his clothes and climbed in the shower. The water ran over his head and he tilted it back to let the water run over his face. He released a sigh, letting the hot water relax the tension in his body and soothe his nerves. A creak from the bathroom door jolted Paul from his mediation.

“Just me. Have to pee and Mike’s in the other bathroom.” John said.

“m’kay.” Paul replied and after a few moments spoke again, “John?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna join me?” Paul heard a quiet shuffle and then jumped when the curtain roughly got pulled aside. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

John grinned. “You never have to ask, Macca.” He looked down to make sure he cleared the side of the bathtub. By doing so, John missed Paul grabbing the shower hose and readying it for when John looked back up. Paul sprayed him directly in the face and laughed.

“Hey! Not fair. You’re gonna get me all wet.” John rubbed the water from his eyes and couldn’t help but laugh at Paul’s face which wrinkled up at his nose, mouth and eyes from smiling. God, how he loved it. The way Paul made him feel, the way he looked, and the way he looked at him. Everything. John grabbed Paul’s cheeks and kissed him. Paul returned the action, pulling John’s hips to drench him in the stream of water. They couldn’t help but laugh a little when they took a breath and the water entered their mouths.

In this moment, Paul couldn’t’ve cared less if the Queen was actually coming over. He had all he wanted standing right in front of him. Paul let his hand wander a little farther down John’s back to which John let out a small, deep growl.  As John was about to move a little further, Mike entered the bathroom.

“Paul, I think John left. I can’t find him.”

Paul had to cover John’s mouth to keep him from laughing and peeked his head out from behind the curtain. “He didn’t leave.”

“Then where-” Mike found the pile of clothes next to the toilet. “No. No, no, no, no.” He turned and quickly started to leave.

“Mike!” Paul didn’t hold back the laughter.

“NO!” He called back.

Paul lifted his hand of John’s mouth, which John so graciously decided to make out with.

“You know that doesn’t work, right? I grew up with a little brother.”

John made a face. Paul moved under the water to wet his hair again.

“We should probably get out.”

“You haven’t even washed up and you can’t leave me like this.” John whined.

Paul glanced downward. “What makes you think I have to take care of it?”

“Because you got it up.”

“Don’t blame me for you being a horny bastard.”

“Pauuuulllll, please….” John begged.

Paul just couldn’t resist John when he acted like that. “Fine.”

“Oh,” John added, “And I’ll return the favor.” He grinned at Paul’s reaction.

“I’m not…oh.”

John laughed. “Not as in-control as you think, Paulie.”

“Shut up and get over here.”

John knew Paul was joking by the way the corners of his eyes wrinkled and he saluted. “Yessir.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys, this is kinda heavy, so it's a little shorter than the others and I've added a little cuteness to the end, I hope. I thought it was kinda funny. I hope you enjoy this! The story will be wrapping up pretty soon, I think. Uhhhh, expect a couple plot twists. Maybe. <3 RingosLiverpool8
> 
> Don't own the Beatles and assoc.

Paul’s phone and the doorbell rang at the same time and Paul, still a bit flustered from finishing up the rest of dinner, yelled at the two other members to ‘get up off their lazy asses and do something for a change’. Fortunately for Mike and John, Paul didn’t see their shared expression of annoyance.

John unlocked the door and opened it and Mike ducked under his raised arm to see who it was.

George stood with a lopsided grin and a bottle of wine. “Why did it have to be you to answer the door, Lennon? I needed time before I had to see your ugly face again.” John smiled and pulled George into a tight embrace, who _hmphed_ at the contact. “Good to see you, John, all joking aside.”

“You too, Geo.” John took the bottle of wine, handing it to Mike. “Take this to Paul.”

Mike huffed from his nose. “Fine. Hey, George.” As he rounded the corner to give Paul the wine, he ignored the whistle that came from George.

“I can’t believe that’s Mike. He’s gotten tall.”

John motioned for him to sit down on the couch. “I know…” He wondered why Paul hadn’t come out to say anything to George. “And so much like Paul, too.”

“The sass?” George laughed and then continued, “speaking of Paul…”

“You got that right, Geo. And he’s in the kitchen, on the phone. I’m not sure with who.” Mike re-entered the room with a couple bowls and set them down. George lifted his eyebrows and upper-half to peek inside while John shook his head in amusement. Food was and always will be George’s one weakness. His mother was to blame of course, cooking all that amazing food for him every night while… John thought for a moment, listening to George and Mike chat about football. If Jim McCartney beat Paul and Mike, Paul would have had to make Mike dinner every night. John cursed himself for the times that he got angry with Paul for leaving band practice early or dragging Mike along to some of their dates.

“What about you, John?” Someone spoke, Mike or George, John wasn’t too sure. He stood up and brushed invisible dirt off his pants.

They were talking about football, John remembered, “Uh, Germany,” and he walked off to join Paul in the kitchen. George and Mike twisted their faces because they asked him what he thought about the latest James Bond movie.

“Paul, love, you need help in here?”

Paul stirred the potato salad and checked the chicken in the oven. “No. Just finishing up. I just got off the phone with the police. They’ve apprehended the suspects and found my keys and wallet on them. I can pick them up tomorrow.”

“Are you pressing charges, then?” John wondered.

“No. It’s not worth the time.” Paul flipped off the oven and glanced at John’s worried face, there was definitely something else on his mind. “What is it?”

“I just got to thinking….”

“That’s never good.”

“Shut up. I was thinking about all those times when I got mad at you for leaving practice early and bringing Mike along on our dates. Knowing what I know now, I have this twisting in my stomach.”

Paul chuckled lightly. “That was years ago, Johnny. I’d forgotten all about that.”

“Well…” John got a peck on the lips and a caressing touch to his cheek.

“Well, I should say hi to George. Keep an eye on the chicken, please.

Ringo showed up not long after the timer went off on the oven, wearing a simple jeans and t-shirt with, much to everyone’s joy, his rings. He said it was the first time he’d worn them in a while, considering his job and the reluctance to let his co-workers discover his childhood adventures. Unfortunately, Ringo’s wife fell sick with the stomach flu, so she couldn’t make it. She did, however, make a nice dessert for them…before the stomach flu, of course. George and Ringo reunited with a long, large hug. Paul handed out plates and urged his guests to help themselves to the feast in the kitchen. He smiled brightly at the scene playing out in front of him. If there was one thing he was wrong about this week, it was that he thought he only had Mike left as family. But, there, in the kitchen, stood two extra brothers and a, in Paul’s mind, future husband. Though he’d never admit it to John.

The night went smoothly and the five relaxed into the chairs and sofas of the living room. George and Ringo each took a chair and the other three took the couch. Paul and John held hands and Mike leaned onto Paul, almost snuggling into his shoulder. They listened to George tell stories about his strange roommate and how much he hates him.

When the room quieted down, Ringo suddenly asked. “How did your Dad die, Paul?” The two McCartney’s jumped at the sudden question and he added, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“No. It’s fine. It was a heart attack…” Mike repeatedly hit Paul’s leg and Paul almost smacked him back until he realized what he’d done. By then it was too late, he slipped up.

“Paul, you told me it was a stroke.” John let go of his hand.

“I said stroke.” Paul swallowed, figuring it was a long shot.

“You said heart attack, mate,” George said.  

“What are you not telling me, Paul?” John pushed a little too much.

“I..we…it…” Paul put in head in his hands and started breathing deeply, trying to control his breathing. Now was not the time to panic, but because it was this particular subject and the three people he didn’t want to lose were sitting right in front of him, it happened. Paul began hyperventilating and shaking. He thought his heart would leap out of his throat and onto the floor.

John, George, and Ringo watched with worry as Mike dragged him off somewhere in the back of the house. John felt like he was going to empty the contents of his stomach right there on the carpet.

“Paul! Paulie. Calm down, it’s okay.” Mike hugged Paul as tight as he could. He felt the sweat sticking to Paul’s skin and the sobs from his chest. This was one thing Mike hated to see. He hated that their father did this to Paul and at the time, Mike was helpless to do anything. All he could do now was pick up the pieces when they fell. Tonight they fell hard and shattered more than ever and Mike couldn’t help but think that John caused it all. He sounded angry at Paul just before and it pushed Paul over the edge. Mike warned John not to hurt him.

A knock came at the bedroom door and Mike looked up, hesitant to open the door. Paul sat on the bed, unmoving from his hunched over position.

“Mike, it’s me.” John whispered through the white door.

“Go away. This is your fault anyway.” Mike spit back. Although Mike couldn’t see it, John cringed at the statement.

“Please, Mike. Let me help.” John pleaded.

A soft thud on the door let Mike know John leaned against it. Paul still hadn’t moved. He went against his better judgment and opened the door.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough to him, John? He can’t handle this up and down crap. We’ve been through a lot and Paul’s done his fair share of hurting, some of it isn’t even his. Paul’s taken your hurt and your pain and he’s taken mine and our mother’s. I think you should-”

“Mike…” A hoarse whisper cut him off.

Mike ran back over and hopped on the bed, wrapping his arms once more around Paul.

In return, Paul laid his hands softly on Mike’s arms, twisting his head to place a kiss on his temple. “Give me ‘n’ John a few minutes, Mikey, ‘kay?”

“I don’t like it, but I guess.” Mike shot John his best imitation of a Paul McCartney bitch-face as a warning.

John offered a smile. “He’s definitely related to you.”

Weakly, Paul returned the smile. “I don’t know what makes you say that.” He let his face fall again. “I never wanted you to see that, Johnny. I never wanted you to find out this way.”

John kissed him firmly. “Mike was right, Paul. You’ve taken all of our pain and shouldered it like your own. Hell, you piled it on your own. It’s time for me to take some from you. Paul, you have to trust me. You have to trust that I love you.”

Paul stayed silent for a while before speaking. “Those things I said all those years ago, I never meant them. I know you know that, but it’s worth saying again. So many times I wanted to run to you and tell you I was sorry. To kiss you one more time and let you hold me and tell me everything would be okay. God knows I needed it. I was forced to move on, it wasn’t a choice I voluntarily made.

“God, John. I think all the time about what could have been. You were right. You were _so_ right. We were gonna be famous, you, me, George, Ringo. I had to go and screw everything up. Everything that happened to you was my fault and it breaks my heart every time I think about it. I’m not certain what you’ll think of me once I’ve explained it all, so forgive me if I don’t look at you.” Paul let the tears flow freely, aware of the feelings this was causing. Paul took a deep breath before continuing.

“John,” he took another shaky breath, “A few nights before I ruined it all, something did happen. I…dammit, John…It was a particularly bad night. Jim had been drinking and I thought he would be gone for most of the night. He came home drunk while I was at band practice, Mike was all alone. Jim hit him and I was so angry. I went downstairs and just went for it. Jim attacked me. Throwing punches, pushing me. It got so out of hand that night, Johnny. He would’ve killed me and then Mike. I didn’t know what to do, I reacted and…and…” Paul started crying. Really crying. John ran a hand through Paul’s hair. He’d never seen Paul this way. His Paul, the one who always stayed to calm and collected. John finally saw how deep Paul buried everything.

Paul steadied his breathing. “I reacted and I killed him. I stabbed him in the kitchen in self-defense. My family covered it all up and erased us from the family line. Everything else I told you was true. I might have made slight comments about someone sleeping with the gym teacher. I dated a girl for a few years and it wasn’t long before I found you that I broke up with her for sleeping around. I never loved her, but I told her I did. I wanted to believe I could move on. But she wasn’t you Johnny. It wasn’t the same…” He stopped and glanced up at John, failing to read his face. Paul ran through the possibilities of how this would turn out, but the number seemed infinite since John could be so unpredictable.

“Did he ever love you, Paul?” John choked out. His throat felt dry and he did all he could not to tackle Paul right there and kiss him all over his damn, adorable face. John was sure Paul wouldn’t appreciate that at the moment.

John’s sudden question took Paul by surprise. “I don’t…I don’t really know.”

“I love you, Paul. So does Mike. And Ringo and George. Your parents. That you know. Jim is still hurting you because you’re letting that memory of him cloud the people who do love you. I don’t care what you did, love, and neither will those people I named off. Because you aren’t at fault. You didn’t ask to be…you know…and you certainly didn’t ask to be a father when you were ten. Look here.” John tried to make eye-contact with Paul again. “Don’t make me lick your face.”

“What?” Paul looked up.

“Ha-ha! It worked.”

“Bastard.” Paul chuckled and smiled at him. “You’re right. I can’t let Jim control me anymore. I’ve got more important things, now.”

“Yeah, you do.” John winked. “Me.” Paul snorted and John thought, _fuck it_ , and pounced on him, kissing every part of his face.

“John. Johnny! Stop it.” Paul laughed loudly enough that he knew his guests definitely heard.

John snuggled his face on Paul’s chest and Paul raked his fingers through the unruly state of auburn hair.

“John, we have to go back to George and Ringo eventually. I have a lot of explaining left to do.”

“Yeah, we do.”

“We?”

“You’re not alone in this anymore, Paul.”

Paul recounted exactly what happened to George and Ringo. John and Mike assured him every time he got stuck or frightened, he was in the company of friends after all. Mike held onto his brother’s right hand and wrapped himself around the same arm. John, not to be outdone, had one arm around Paul’s waist, sitting as close as he could. Paul felt grateful for both, but he had to give John the upper hand as he was placing little kisses on his cheek every so often. Paul’s account finished and he waited for George and Ringo to say something.

“Did you think that we would hate you, Paul? We’re your best friends and we’re glad that it was him and not you and Mike buried six feet under.” George huffed.

Paul smiled. “Thanks, George.”

“Yeah, Paulie. You’re our brother. Mike too. He was kinda like our cheerleader,” Ringo laughed. “And John you can’t deny it was cute seeing him dance around in front of us while we practiced.”

“The little twit was cute I guess.” John winked at Mike who just scowled in return.

Paul looked on as his little brother, two best friends, and lover joked around, mostly at Ringo’s expense. It was a change though, listening to them pick on someone else besides him. A joyful electricity filled the room and the previous dreariness disappeared completely. The five agreed that they needed a little more dessert and decided ice cream would do the trick. They all piled in Ringo’s huge Cadillac Escalade, John of course sitting in the front seat and George sharing the back with Paul and Mike. On the way there, Elvis came on the radio and Mike suddenly wished he could hop out of a moving car like James Bond. The whole scene was just embarrassing. John pretended to sing into a microphone and move his hips around in the seat and Paul sang at the top of his lungs along with Ringo and George and John. Mike was utterly embarrassed to even be related to Paul at this moment.

Out of the car, Mike groaned at the four friends in front of them. He didn’t think that anyone he knew would be there. But, because he is the McCartney child with all the bad luck, a group of his football friends sat right outside the ice cream shop. He tried to look away but not before they saw him.

“Mikey! Hey Mike! Mike McCartney!”

Mike cringed as John, Paul, George, and Ringo turned around.

A mischievous grin spread across John’s face and he draped and arm around Mike’s shoulders. “Are these your friends, Mike?”

Mike shrugged off his arm and pointed to each individual. “Ben, Jack, Will, and Dennis.”

The one Mike named as Dennis stared wide-eyed at Paul and then averted his eyes. “Hi, Mr. McCartney.”

Paul raised an eyebrow. “Dennis? I didn’t know you knew Mike.” John sensed a change in attitude in Paul. He became a lot more formal than before.

“We play on the same club league.” Dennis still avoided Paul’s eyes, “I didn’t know Mike was your son.”

“Son?” John and Mike said together.

“I’m his brother, idiot.” Mike continued.

Paul laughed. “How old did you think I was, Dennis?”

John made hand motions at the kid. “Don’t answer that question.”

Mike, desperate, wanted to get both John and Paul away from his friends, they were so embarrassing. “You realize George and Ringo already went inside?”

“What?” Paul turned around and sure enough, they were both checking out the flavors in the ice cream shop. “Well, have a great rest of summer, Dennis. I’ll see you in the fall. Everyone else…” Paul nodded his head. “Mike, luv, do you want anything?”

“Chocolate shake?” Mike asked.

“Made with vanilla ice cream?”

“Duh.” Paul winked in return.

“So which one is John?” the kid called Ben asked.

“The one who had his arm around me earlier.” Mike answered.

“I see why you chose your silent auction.”

“Shh,” Mike hushed them, “I haven’t told them about that.”

“What about the free concert, then?”

“Err…no.”

“What free concert?” John snuck up from behind, licking his cone of cookie dough ice cream.

“Gee, thanks guys.” Mike turned to face John. “I volunteered you guys for something next month.”

“You what?” Paul found his way to John’s side, handing the milkshake to Mike. “We’re going home. Now.” Mike scrunched his nose at the obvious dissatisfaction in Paul’s tone. He knew he’d be ripped a new one once they got back home and George and Ringo headed back home. Well, Mike wasn’t entirely sure they would go home. He knew they were planning to drink when they got back.

Ringo whistled. “What’d you volunteer them for?”

“Uh,” Mike stuttered, “It’s not just them. You and George, too.”

“What now?” George spoke through a mouthful of ice cream cone.

“Alright. I said you all would do a Quarrymen reunion for our annual fundraiser.”

“What else?” Paul asked, still frustrated with his little brother.

“A silent auction.” Mike kicked the ground with his feet.

“For what?”

“A date with you and a date with John.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update! Sorry it's been so long.... enjoy this and there'll only be one more chapter I think. But have no fear I will post little one-shots within this universe.
> 
> I don't own the Beatles and assoc. This is fiction. I also don't own Emergency! or American Gods ----> just things mentioned in this chapter
> 
> Oh and remember those plot twists I mentioned? ;)

“Oh, come on Paul, it’s not that big of a deal and it’s for a good cause.”

Mike couldn’t help but feel grateful for Ringo’s attempt to calm Paul down, especially since it worked. Paul simmered down to just a slight bitch-face.

Paul crossed his arms. “I suppose, but I will **_NOT_** go on a date with anyone under the age of nineteen.” Mike smiled, glad Paul got on board. John wasn’t hard to convince, he thought the idea was kind of fun and actually laughed at the idea that Paul might get stuck with a crazy mom that might get a little handsy.

“Deal. I’ll make sure someone checks IDs on yours and John’s. What about The Quarrymen?” Mike really wanted them to reunite for the fundraiser. It’d bring in so much money.

“I’m game.” George said quickly, gaining stares from the others.

“Me, too.” John agreed, sliding an arm around Paul’s waist and kissing his neck in sickening affection.

Paul snorted. “Please. You don’t have to do that…I’m in. Ringo?”

“Err.” Ringo played with the rings on his fingers. “I don’t know, guys, I-”

John squinted his eyes at Ringo. “It’s not those pricks you work with, is it?”

“N-yeah. Mo, too. She’s never seen me play, nor does she know that I can.” Ringo confessed.

Paul threw a pillow. “Come on, Ringo. Let yourself go. You were crazy about your drums.”

Ringo scoffed at the ridiculousness of his friends. “Alright. Fine, since you’re pressuring me into it. They tell you you shouldn’t buy into peer pressure.”

The three others laughed and proceeded to throw pillows at him. Needless to say, Mike had to take cover because the four of them were ruthless. Paul, George, and Ringo stood ready to begin a pillow fight – no war, pillow war – but John insisted that it was childish thing to do. Three distinct groans answered John’s party-pooper attitude. It wasn’t long before John, Paul, George, and Ringo each had a few drinks in them, Mike was even allowed to have one. Paul felt a little dizzy and decided to switch to water for a little bit. On the way back to the living room, cup of water in hand, a pillow suddenly whacked him upside the head and the battle commenced. Mike watched in horror as the supposed ‘grown ups’ attacked each other like animals. However, it wasn’t long before Mike, too, was roped into it. Ten minutes passed before they called it a truce.

“Alright, Alright!” Paul called, “Before we break anything.”

“Spoil sport…” George mumbled.

Both Ringo and George decided to stay at Paul’s that night due to the copious amounts of alcohol they consumed. Mike blew up the air mattress for one of them, assuming only one of them would be sleeping on it. He laughed a little when they both flopped down on the mattress. There was a vague memory that surfaced in Mike’s brain. He thought he remembered Paul saying that George was quite the cuddler.

In the morning, the boys sported aching headaches and instantly regretted going through a half a bottle of whiskey, four bottles of wine, and four beers each. None of them had drunk that much in quite a long time. Despite the headache, Paul fixed them an amazing eggs and bacon breakfast. Before any of them left, John had something important he wanted to discuss.

“Before you leave, I wanna know what you think about changing the name?”

“What name, babe?” Paul asked from over the kitchen sink.

“The band name. The Quarrymen is a bit outdated…” John stuffed a piece of bacon in his mouth. George and Ringo nodded.

Paul dried his hands off. “Well, what were ya thinkin’.”

“Well, it came to me last night when I was fucking that gorgeous mouth of yours an-”

Paul nearly dropped his mug of tea. “JOHN!”

“Oh, come on, I want to keep my breakfast!” George yelled and Ringo groaned.

John snickered. “Sorry, but, anyway…what do you think about _The Beatles_?”

“As in bugs?” Mike wondered.

“Yes and no. Like a play on the word. _Beat_ as in the beat of the music. _Beatles_.” John moved his hands in emphasis of the word. Positive noises from his friends assured him that the name would work.

“It’s good, Johnny.” Ringo affirmed.

“So, it’s set then? We’re officially _The Beatles_?”

“Yep.” George, Paul, and Ringo said in unison.

Around noon, George and Ringo left Paul’s home, which left Paul, John, and Mike alone again. Paul cleaned up the kitchen while the other two were tasked to clean up the living room. Once finished straightening up the house again, Paul had to focus on the next box on his to-do list: The Family Vacation.

~~~~

Packing was always trouble for Paul because he never knew if he would need something or not. What made this packing worse than the others was that he was also packing for two children, his boyfriend and little brother. The two of them couldn’t seem to manage the task on their own. Paul knew John had been on long vacations like this with Aunt Mimi, but he never thought that John didn’t pack for himself. Apparently, Mimi always did it for him.

Paul ended up having to sit down and make a list to triple check that the three of them didn’t over-pack or under pack. The resort they would be staying at had a washer and dryer in the room, so Paul could do laundry. This automatically reduced the weeks’ worth of clothes down to about four outfits and to only two suitcases. A small one for Mike and a large one for Paul and John. What Paul hoped though was that they wouldn’t be wearing much clothing anyway (‘ _get your mind out of the gutter, John_ ’). He wanted to spend as much time at the pool as he could, considering he never went to the public pools on his own. The only time he would need clothing was when they went to the parks.

When Paul said that Mike _really_ wanted to go to Harry Potter World, he lied. Although Mike did want to go, Paul completely geeked out over it. While Mike thought it was annoying, John thought it endearing and cute and ultimately egged it on. He suggested to Paul that they watch all eight movies on the way down there and if they didn’t finish them then, then they could watch them in the hotel.

The night before they were set to leave, they finished their packing and loaded it in the car. Brian and Cliff suggested they stay at their house so they could all just leave from there.

“Mike? Do you have all your chargers and headphones?” Paul yelled.

“Yeah!” A muffled reply came from the back of the house. Paul made sure everything was set right for George, who agreed to house sit while they were gone.

“Alright. Johnny, you ready?”

“Yes, love. I have been.” John got up off the couch and grabbed Paul’s waist. “You can de-stress a little, now. If we forgot anything, there is a store.” He kissed him and John felt Paul’s shoulders relax. “There we go.”

Paul chuckled. “I love you, John.”

“Love you, too, Paulie.”

****

A sunburn. That’s what John Lennon came back from Florida with, a sunburn and sun poisoning. And not to mention, Paul’s excessive ‘I told you so’. Despite that, the vacation was more than he could’ve hoped for. He and Paul got some much needed time alone. A lazy river wrapped around the inside of the resort they stayed at and they spent most of their time there, stealing kisses and loving glances.

They shared a bedroom with Mike while Brian and Cliff got the master bedroom. The suite they stayed in put John in a state of awe. He’d never stayed in anything as nice as that. They had a balcony which overlooked a vast lake. It was breathtaking since John had never been anywhere with palm trees and alligators before. He didn’t want to leave, especially since he and Paul made quite intimate memories there.

But now, being back home, John had some serious things to think about, like, getting a job. Paul hadn’t mentioned it, but something in the back of John’s mind nagged him about it. Something about it ‘being the right thing to do’. John assumed it was just his inner Paul talking. Still, he did have a few jobs circled in the newspaper, one he already had an interview for. He had to be slightly thankful that he could use Paul’s computer anytime he wanted because on there was Paul’s own résumé he could model his after.

Since the mugging, Paul had quit his job at the tutoring center, which is where John had an interview. He had to tell Paul so he could get a ride.

It was still a couple days before the interview and John asked Paul when they got into bed. “Hey, Paul?”

“Yeah?” Paul looked up from the book he was reading.

A twinge of nervousness twisted John’s stomach. “What’re you reading?”

“ _American Gods._ Its Neil Gaiman. I got permission to teach it to my science fiction/fantasy literature class for this year. I need to re-read it.” Paul lifted one eyebrow, curious as to why John was suddenly interested in the book he’d been reading for the past week.

“Oh. Right.”

“Johnny, is there something bothering you?”

John played with the covers. “No. But I need to ask you something.”

“Sure.” Paul put the book on his nightstand, then turned to face John.

“I have a job interview in three days and need you to take me.”

“Of course, babe. You do-”

“It’s at the tutoring center.”

“O-oh.”

“Macca, I know you are hesitant to go back downtown but I really want you there…”

Paul couldn’t resist the look John gave him and chuckled. “That’s not fair…of course I’ll be there. After all, you’ll protect me, right?” He gave John a wink.

“Yeah, I’ll show ‘em.” John pecked Paul on the cheek and rolled on top of him to switch off the lamp. He decided just to lay on Paul.

“You can lay there, just let me adjust myself. I’m still propped up. How’s your back feeling by the way, are the blisters still there?”

John sat up. “Fine. I think it’s completely gone. Just peeling now. I feel like a snake.”

Paul tapped his stomach for John to lay back down. “Mm. I won’t comment.”

“ _Paul!_ ” John sounded offended, “I am shocked by your nefarious thoughts!”

“Nefarious?” Paul snorted.

“I’m trying to sound posh. Is it working?”

The couple laughed till the tears came. Paul felt like a teenager again, with John in his arms, head snuggled into Paul’s chest. He had stopped laughing to listen to John’s.

“What?” John looked up, chin resting on Paul’s chest.

“Nothing…” Paul replied, almost blissfully.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“I just…I just love you, John.” Paul stroked the other man’s mess of auburn hair delicately.

“Now you see, that’s not nothing.” John held a kiss in the crook of Paul’s neck. “I love you.”

“We’re living in a soap opera, John.”

“Oh? Then you must have a secret lover I don’t know about.”

Paul stifled a yawn. “How’d you guess?”

“Who is it then?” John snuggled in closer.

“Ringo.”

A slap to Paul’s thigh set off a new fit of giggles. When that died down, the two drifted off into a peaceful night of sleep. John draped over Paul and two secure arms holding him in place.

~~~~

A good feeling accompanied John when he came out of the office of the tutoring center’s director. The job was one running painting classes for the elderly. Paul sat nervous the entire time, waiting outside the office. Several people he knew came up to him and asked how he was and what he was doing there since he put in his resignation. They came up a bit short with Paul, for some reason angry with him for doing so. Apparently, as one person told him, the community loved to hear him read. Paul just didn’t have the strength in him to tell them what happened. He was relieved when John finally came out.

John was all smiles. “She said the job’s mine if I want it. I said yes.”

“I’m proud of you, John. I really am.” Paul raked his hand through John’s hair, smiling sweetly.

The pair walked down the steps of the Greco-Roman style building, hand in hand. They decided to take the long way around through the park to reach the university parking lot across the street. Paul relaxed a little bit as the August air whipped around him, bringing in the smell of the summer flowers planted at the edges of the park. He started thinking about how perfect his life had turned out to be, how utterly domestic it turned out to be. Never had Paul thought John would settle down as much as he had in the past few months, especially with the subtle mentions of marriage John would drop every now and then. Paul had always wanted a big family, with a bundle of kids to call his own and a chance to be the father he never had. Right now, his life couldn’t be better.

“I never thought you would show your face around here again, Lennon.” A shrill voice interrupted Paul’s thoughts and stopped John dead in his tracks. John had gone pale. An old woman with very little and very rotted teeth approached them with a makeshift cane and tangled, silvery white hair.

“Is this him?” She cackled. “This is the one you wanted to hurt. A pretty thing, he is.”

“Shut up…” John whispered hoarsely.

“Oh? He doesn’t know what you planned to do, then.” She turned to Paul. “Well, pretty boy, your _love_ here planned to leave you brokenhearted and alone. He planned to _steal_ things from you, all in attempt to hurt you.”

“Please…” John sounded on the verge of crying.

“John.” Paul managed to say through a fair bit of shock.

“Paulie, I…please…”

Paul did see stray tears slip down John’s cheek, he decided they needed to get out of there. “We’re leaving, John.” Anger clearly stood out in Paul’s tone.

“He’s going to leave you stranded and you’ll have nowhere to turn.” The woman cackled again, shaking her stick at the boys.

“John. Go to the car. I’ll be along in a minute,” Paul said to John without any hint of anger which left John confused as he turned and nearly ran to Paul’s car.

“And you,” Paul began, finding his hostility again, “You will leave him alone. I don’t know who you are, but you don’t have power over him anymore. I’m not angry with John. You didn’t get what you wanted.” He took pride in seeing the old woman’s nasty grin fall from her face. “What we’ve been through and the love we have is stronger than anything you could’ve said or done. You actually brought us closer. That little stunt you pulled with the mugging…that did it. Shattered whatever hatred John had in his heart. The hatred you instilled in him.”

Paul took a deep breath. “Again I say, you will leave us alone or you might just find yourself in handcuffs…” At his final statement, Paul speed walked to the car. He’d never felt his heart beat as fast as it did in that moment. What he said was true, he wasn’t angry with John.

Approaching the car, Paul spotted John inside with the air conditioning running on the highest setting. His head was in his hands. Paul opened the car door quietly and the slam of the closing startling John.

“Paul please…” John practically jumped over to the driver’s side, kissing Paul all over his face and muttering an intermittent ‘I’m sorry’. Light laughter from the younger man halted John’s assault on Paul’s face. “Paul…?”

“Johnny. I’m not angry with you.”

“You-you’re not?” John sat back down in the driver’s side with a thump.

“No. A little disappointed you didn’t tell me…but I really don’t care, John. What matters to me is that you didn’t do it.”

“I love you.” Was all John could reply.

“You better,” Paul said with a smirk, “who was that woman, anyway?”

“Sarah. She kinda took care of me when I first became homeless. I probably would’ve died if it wasn’t for her…but I realize now what an idiot I was for not seeing how manipulative she was.”

“Oh. Sarah? That stick she was carrying said something else on it. Maybe it meant something in a different language.” Paul shrugged and shifted gears in the car, ready to get them home as soon as possible.

John buckled his seatbelt and leaned back in the seat. “What’d it say? I never noticed anything there.”

“Yoko.”

~~~~

At home, John and Paul didn’t want to do anything, so they cuddled up on the couch and watched re-runs of an old television show, _Emergency!_ Mike appeared and left multiple times throughout the few episodes they watched, oblivious to the events that occurred that evening. They were so emotionally drained that they hardly spoke except for quips about the show and John insisting he could be a firefighter and Paul laughing telling him he’d burn the fire station down first day on the job. John couldn’t deny that it wouldn’t happen.

Fourth episode in, the doorbell rang.

Paul groaned, “What now? Michael, get the door!”

“FINE,” Mike shouted back.

A few seconds later, Mike walked into the living room. “Paul, you might want to come here for a second.” His stoic demeanor frightened Paul a little.

Paul huffed, “Yeah, okay. I’ll be back in a sec, Johnny.” John adjusted his body so Paul could get up, he wasn’t exactly happy with whoever was at the door. John already missed the extra warmth.

“Who is it, Mike?” Paul asked, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Just...go look.”

Paul made his way through the kitchen to the front door and his eyes opened wide. “Dot?”

“Hi, Paul.” She said shakily, running a hand through her hair.

“It’s been months, why the hell’re you here?”

“Six and a half. Can we sit down, please?”

“Fine. Come in.” Paul failed to notice the staggered way in which she walked, the lights were off in the front part of the house, only lit by the moon. As they made their way into the fully lit kitchen, Paul pulled a chair from under the kitchen table. Turning around, he almost fainted.

Dot shuffled over to the chair and slowly and carefully sat down. “I suppose you know why I’m here.”

“Who’s that, Paul?” John had gotten off the couch and joined Mike in the archway connecting the living room and the kitchen.

“Uh…Dot, John. John, Dot.” Paul stuttered, not taking his eyes off his ex.

“Oh, you’re the one who fucked the gym teacher.” John spat.

“Johnny, not now.” Paul spoke at a near whisper.

A shred of worry crossed John’s face. “Paul, love, what’s wrong?”

“Care to explain to the class, Dot.” Paul said nervously.

“Well, as you can tell, I’m pregnant,” Dot paused for a moment, “And it’s yours, Paul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be mad at me.... but thanks for reading, guys. Really i can't express the gratitude enough. As a writer it just means so much when you guys give such amazing encouragement and fab ideas.... You're all lovely!!!
> 
> <3 RingosLiverpool8


	10. Chapter 10: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. I feel bad for taking super long... so here's the first part of chapter 10! 
> 
>  
> 
> Don't own the Beatles and assoc.

The silence fell loud on the ears of the people standing in the small kitchen. Paul absolutely knew Dot would say the baby was his, but that didn’t prepare him for the actual words.

“Are you sure it’s his? I mean, you didn’t just fuck Paul that day, if I’m not mistaken.” John asked, angry. He’d just met this woman and immediately didn’t see what Paul saw in her. She was average, at best. Not someone John would have pictured Paul with at all. But, honestly, here Paul stood. As John’s boyfriend. Lennon wondered what Paul saw in him…

“Are you going to let your friend talk to me that way?” Dot addressed Paul in an offended tone.

“John, I appreciate your concern. But I can handle this. I promise.” Paul turned to Dot. “And considering what you did, he can bloody well speak to you any way he wants to. I’m not going to muzzle him.”

“She still didn’t answer the question, Paul. It might not be yours.” John placed a hand on Paul’s hip from behind, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by their house guest.

Paul sighed. “There’s no question the child is mine, John, Dwight’s sterile.”

She folded her arms. “You’re damn right, it’s yours. I don’t want anything to do with it when it’s out.”

Paul raised his voice. “I would appreciate it if you would stop calling the child an ‘it’ and what do you mean by you don’t want anything to do with the child.”

“I. Don’t. Want. The. Child.”

Paul blankly stared at her for about thirty seconds. “You’re not...are you?”

“No, Paul. I’m not. But when i-the child is born, I’m dropping him or her off on your doorstep.”

Before Paul could respond John spoke, “I want that in writing.”

“What?” She snapped.

“I want that in writing with your signature. Given your history with Paul, I don’t want you getting his hopes up just to bring him crashing back down.”

Paul took a second to register what John said and it surprised him. Of all things for John Lennon to say, that wasn’t what Paul expected. He expected a witty comeback or at least a sarcastic comment. Right then, though, John’s eyes were serious.

“And who do you think you are to say what I did and didn’t do?”

“Paul’s boyfriend.” John waved his hand sarcastically. “Hello.”

Dot froze, not uttering a word. She looked to Paul to find some sort of hint of a joke, but there wasn’t one. “I turned you gay?”

That was it. John burst out into laughter, hand resting on Mike’s shoulder. Paul couldn’t help but catch the laughter.

“Paul was gay before you even met,” Mike said, “John’s Paul’s first everything. First love, first kiss….first shag.”

Paul’s eyes widened. “Hang on. How do you even know that?”

“I heard you two. You were fifteen Paul. I figured out eventually why my big brother was-.”

“Mike. I get it.” Paul turned his attention back to Dot. “Dorothy, I did love you and for a time I thought we might marry. In the end we weren’t meant for each other, you know that.”

“So what was I, a place holder for when _he_ came along?” She emphasized ‘he’ with a twisted scowl.

“I hadn’t thought about John in the years when things were good. It all started when you started to drift that I began to really miss John, that I began to wish you were him.” Paul stayed surprisingly calm.

“You moved on…” John interrupted.

“That’s not what I meant by that…”

“Then what did you mean?” Dot inquired as if she read John’s mind.

“I thought about you all the time, John. I constantly wondered what you were doing because I wanted to believe those things I said didn’t even phase you and you moved on. But, I was in another relationship which I gave everything to and I started a new life. So, no John. When I kissed her I didn’t pretend it was you. When we made love, I didn’t say your name. Like I said, I missed you in the end. That was when I started imagining things.” Paul didn’t mean to rant, but it seemed the only way to keep both his ex and John from jumping down his throat.

“This is weird. I’m gonna go play violent video games.” Mike left the most awkward love triangle standing in the kitchen. Once more awkward than _Twilight._ Not that Mike had _ever_ read that book…

“Mike’s right. This conversation is finished. I will take the child. You still have my number and I’ll help pay for things and accompany you to appointments. I’ll contact a lawyer tomorrow.” Paul helped her up from the chair, escorting her to the door. He did see that Dwight sat in the truck in the driveway and made eye contact with him. The step from the front door raised higher than normal, so Paul helped Dot down from there.

“Dot, I don’t hate you. I couldn’t. You helped me in ways that are hard to explain, I’m just sorry things ended that-this way. Joint custody is always a possibility if you ever wanted to see our child.”

“He’s an ass, Paul. John is.” She stated.

“He can be at times. John’s not always like that, he had his walls up and in a way protecting me. Pasts haunt us and it’s made him, and me, like that. Guarded. Walled up. Whatever you wish. I’m a head case, Dot. I know that as well as you.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t good for you.” She winked and left a confused Paul on the porch.

Back in the house, John tried to figure out how to rewind the episode they were watching. His glasses slipped down to the tip of his nose, like an elderly man. Paul smiled at the picture moment, understanding what Dot meant. John had always been his, no matter what they went through or fought about.

“We completely missed how DeSoto got Gage out of that mine…how do you work this thing again?” John handed Paul the remote and in a few button clicks the episode started back where they left off. Cuddling up on the couch, John and Paul thought about the same thing. How a child would change everything, provide a challenge to their relationship. John knew Paul wanted a family and Paul knew John was nervous about being a father, using the excuse that he didn’t ever have a father figure to teach him how.

It was Paul who spoke first. “Will you leave if things start to get rough?”

John whacked him on the top of the head. “You’re an idiot McCartney.”

“Ow,” Paul rubbed the stinging spot, agitated. “Was that necessary?”

“Yes, because you’re an idiot.”

“I’m not…”

“You are,” John repeated bluntly, “You think I would be stupid enough to let you get away again?”

Paul was quiet. “Are we really going to do this?”

“We are. I’m not going to let you go through the pain of losing a child.”

Paul paused the TV. “John? Have you…?”

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for being patient and understanding and reading my other fics. You guys on this site are the nicest people, literally. I don't think I could've found motivation to write these if it wasn't for you guys. It means the world to me.
> 
>  
> 
> <3 RingosLiverpool8


	11. Chapter 10: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two!!! Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Don't own The Beatles and assoc.

“Do you remember Cynthia Powell?” John asked.

“Uh, yeah. She was the one who dyed her hair blonde because she thought that’s what you liked. I remember.” Paul was glad it was her and not anyone else. She at least treated him kind.

“Well, I became a drunkard – as you know – and she tried. I just ended up getting her pregnant. All I could think about was you and how much your father drank and how much it pained you to see it. I also thought about how much you wanted a family. I would’ve cleaned myself up and I started to. Cyn, the baby, they gave me something that you could be proud of and maybe you would take me back. Given what I know now, it all seems silly.”

Paul couldn’t breathe; he didn’t want to, was afraid to. In that moment, Paul realized something about John. He’d grown up. Sure, now, Paul saw the insecure sixteen-year-old when they first met, but this John…this John became something else entirely. In a good way. Paul didn’t think it possible to love John more than he already did. Yet, here he was, lost in the enigma that was John Lennon. Again.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, Paul. We’ll make it through. We always do.” John placed a loving kiss on Paul’s lips. “And besides, we have a wonderful babysitter.”

“Who?” Paul let himself be wrapped up in John’s arms again.

“George Harrison.”

****

A lot of things happened for John and Paul before the school year started and Paul went back to work. Mike’s fundraiser took place and the newly formed Beatles took the stage for the first time since they were teenagers. They surprised themselves that they even still sounded good. Ringo especially enjoyed himself even without the knowledge that his wife was down in the audience telling everyone, ‘that’s my husband behind the drums’, and ‘my husband’s the drummer’. The Beatles were a hit…and so were John and Paul. By the end of the night by the end of the night, they had, together, raised a little more than a third of the earnings from the silent auction. One raised more than the other, but Paul refused to talk about it, especially since he had to take an 84-year-old woman out on a date.

Paul did feel a little bit better when John’s date ended with wine on his pants and lipstick marks on his face and neck. Luckily, Paul only had to escort the woman to church and then to senior brunch.

Not long after, Mike moved back home and John and Paul started work. John only worked half the day teaching art classes, leaving time to make minor changes around the house. Things like organizing the closets and drawers and deep cleaning rooms. He even made an appointment to get his driver’s license. Just things to keep him busy until Paul came home. It was weird, having the house to themselves without Mike around. John kind of missed the kid. Enough so that he started to get excited about raising the baby with Paul, which gave him an idea: to pick out colors for the baby’s room. John wanted to paint scenes from storybooks on the walls, fairytales and the like.

Maybe, John thought, he’d surprise Paul by doing it. The only problem was, paint prices ran high and he was trying to save his money for something else.

****

As October finished, Paul turned into a nervous wreck, checking his phone every hour of the day and night and waking John in the process.

“Relax,” John mumbled, “They’ll call.”

“That baby could be born any minute,” Paul whispered, clearly awake.

“You’re worrying yourself sick, Paul. I heard you sniffling the other day.”

“Maybe I was crying…” Paul protested.

John called Paul on his bullshit. “About what?”

“That I have to look at your face every morning.”

John blinked a few times, mouth in a straight line. “Go to sleep, Paul.”

Paul snuggled back into John’s chest, sighing. Just when John thought he’d gone to sleep, Paul spoke again.

“Johnny?”

“What?”

“Happy Birthday.”

John let out a light chuckle, placing a kiss to Paul’s hair and wrapping his arms around the slim figure. “It’s hard to be mad at you when you act all cute and innocent…”

It was Paul’s turn to laugh as they pulled closer and tighter.

~~~~

John’s birthday fell on a Thursday, so Paul had to work. Still, though, they had a nice dinner planned and an even better night.

Paul’s mind wasn’t connected right and his students noticed. They were supposed to have a test over Kurt Vonnegut’s _Slaughterhouse-Five._ He forgot to make the test and forgot there even was a test. Normally, they wouldn’t have said anything, but Paul started to yell at them for not bringing their class materials.

“Mr. McCartney?” one brave girl, arguably Paul’s favorite student, addressed after the twenty-minute lecture on preparedness and participation.

“What, Samantha?”

“We were supposed to have an exam today. It’s on the syllabus.”

Paul shuffled his papers around to find his copy. “I…am…so sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I don’t have an exam written. This is my fault completely. We’ll just have a class discussion, then. Socratic seminar.”

The kids understood, quickly arranging their desks in a circle.

“Starting question. What was Vonnegut’s purpose in-.”

A knock interrupted him and he put his head down on the desk, causing light laughter.

Paul picked his head back up, smiling. “I just can’t win, can I?” A couple of the girls giggled in response. As a teacher Paul was a goofball, but stern when he needed to be. Sometimes, the girls he had never did well on tests or quizzes and he just didn’t want to admit to himself why. Most of the teenage girls in the school found English teacher, Paul McCartney, sexy.

Near dragging his feet to the door, he opened it to reveal an angry Dwight Wilson. “Dot’s been in labor for over two hours and they _just_ called me. The school is making us wait until the substitutes get here.”

“Which could take at least another two hours.” Paul responded, “Do you have a class right now?”

“Yes, I left them for a few mintues.”

“Bring them in here. I’ll watch them, you go to the hospital.”

“No. You go, I’ll stay.”

Paul stared, confused. “I think she’d rather have you…”

“McCartney, go.”

With a quick announcement to his class that he’d give them all full credit for the exam, Paul ran out of the building. He was sure Dot would be well into active labor by now.

~~~~

John was pissed. No one mentioned to him that the baby, his and Paul’s baby, was being born. The receptionist had been informed but didn’t tell John until after his class…which lasted three hours. On the way there, John knew the baby had to have been born and that he would have to do some serious groveling for Paul to forgive him.

Being employed downtown meant quick access to the university hospital where the baby would be born. It was as he feared when he got to the hospital, because he found Paul sitting in the waiting room, tie loosened, shirt partly undone, sleeves rolled up, and hair sticking up in places it usually didn’t.

“Paulie, I’m sorry I’m late. They didn’t give me- Paul?”

Paul’s eyes drifted upward to John, the lost, dazed look in them caught John’s attention and it scared him.

“Paulie?” He said again, watching the recognition appear.

“Johnny…” Paul’s voice matched his face, solemn and quiet. “The baby.”

“The baby,” John repeated, “Paul, is everything okay?”

“She…”

John smiled, excited. “The baby’s a she?”

“Was.”

Just as quick as it came, the smile dropped from John’s face. “W-was?”

“She was stillborn, John.” And Paul broke. “She was so beautiful. Why can’t I have anything go right? Why does this happen to us? What have we done to deserve it?” The tears fell hard and plentiful from his face as John pulled him in. John felt them drop on his neck and slide down his chest. His own tears threatened, but for Paul’s sake, he blinked them away. Words formed in his mind, but none of them adequate enough to soothe someone who already had so much heartache, so much pain, so much responsibility on their shoulders.

So John just held him, ‘shh-ing’ every now and then. Eventually, Paul’s hard sobs turned into hiccups and then to deep breathing, all the while not moving from his spot nestled in John’s neck.

“Paulie?” John dared to ask.

He got a grunt in return.

“Paul, look at me.”

He did and they looked at each other.

John broke the silence. “You have quite the ugly crying face.”

Paul scoffed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Come on…let’s see those pearly Paulie whites, eh?”

He smiled at John, laughing a little at the face John made, tongue pushed into his lower lip, eyes wide and crossed.

“There you are…I know you loved that little girl, but maybe we’re meant for someone else a little later. What I’m saying is, maybe it’s not our time because you and I have a lot of living left to do.” John believed to, too. Sure, he liked the idea of having a little Lennon-McCartney family, but this isn’t the only chance they’ll ever have.

“John?” Paul finally found his voice.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Paul wiped a stray tear from his face. “And it’s still your birthday.”

“It is, but I think I just want some fish and chips and a little bit of Paul for dessert.” John winked.

“You’re disgusting…”

~~~~

They fell asleep after a night neither of them would forget. John did his best to help Paul forget the events of the day and he thought it worked.

An urge to use the restroom woke John from peaceful sleep. He relieved himself, still very tired, uncaring that the clock read three in the morning.

Back in bed, John rolled over to get comfortable on top of Paul. Instead, he fell on a cold, empty spot. Paul had gotten up.

~~xx~~

THE STARKEY RESIDENCE

Ringo Starr tried to get comfortable on the couch, seeing as it was his fault that Maureen got angry with him. She’d grown accustomed to a lifestyle she wasn’t ready to give up and Ringo thought about changing it all. He looked at the clock, seeing 3:30am in flashing red lights. Getting any sleep would be a miracle for him. When Ringo finally did find a comfortable spot, an annoying, continuous knock rapped at the door. He looked at the clock again: 3:45am.

“Who the hell is at the bloody door at this time of night?” Ringo said to himself, slipping on his robe and slippers. He looked through the peephole. “Bloody hell, are you serious?” The door’s latches clicked as Ringo unlocked them and opened the door. “Lennon, do you have any idea what time it is?”

John had trouble forming words in an apparent state of panic.

“Spit it out, John, lad.”

“Ringo, I can’t find Paul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So I have no idea where this is going.... If I have left anything unexplained, please let me know and I'll try to resolve it.
> 
> I really love those cliff hangers..... and DRAMA :D


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't like this chapter..... I apologize for this being pretty much all dialogue. Next chapter will be better, I hope. 
> 
>  
> 
> Don't own the Beatles and assoc.

Ringo ushered John inside, worried just the same. It was unlike Paul to just up and leave in the middle of the night. He made some tea for the both of them, mostly to calm John down a bit.  
The tea was taken with a shaky hand. “Do you have any idea where he might be, Ritch?”  
Ringo shook his head. “You know…hey, John, do you remember what Paul used to get angry with you about?”  
John thought for a moment. “Being late?”  
“No.”  
“Uh, not picking up my dirty clothes?”  
“No…”  
“Not showering for three days?”  
“Ew, John, that’s disgusting…but, no.”  
“Okay, Starkey. I give up.”  
“You never used to listen to him.”  
“Oh, that. Yeah.” John had forgotten about how he used to tune Paul out when they were first together. Paul could ramble on and on about things, just dragging them out to unnecessary lengths. Now, though, John found it an adorable trait, more or less because he missed it, meaning he listened now.  
“Well, when you didn’t listen, I did. We need to go to the cemetery.”  
“His mother…” John grabbed Ringo by the arm, dragging him out the door despite Ringo’s protests and name-calling. He didn’t think about Mary at all, but it only seemed logical that Paul would go to her. Part of him felt like slapping himself for not listening to stuff like that.  
The drive was long and stress levels were high, Ringo hoped Paul would be there. Paul told him about his mother’s grave when they were waiting for John to start band practice. He estimated it was about a year before Paul disappeared. Regardless, Paul had said he spent most of the day talking to her headstone. Ringo didn’t understand then, finding it strange. An answer couldn’t be given from the dead and it, he supposed, would just make someone look crazy.  
After Ringo had lost a close friend in the war, he knew why Paul did it. He would sit on the grass, among the flowers left by anonymous grievers and talk. Somehow, they could hear him, Ringo was sure. The wind would sometimes blow or a cloud would cover the sun at the right moment in conversation. Either way, Ringo felt better, and maybe, that’s what Paul wanted to feel, too. A light snow began to fall, lending hope to Ringo that Paul got his answer.  
“We’re here…” John spoke quiet, unsure of whether to go in or not. Julia was in there, a place John never had the courage to visit, not without Paul anyway.  
The two friends tiptoed their way through the small cemetery, careful not to scare Paul. It was a good thing Ringo was with him. John didn’t quite remember where Mary’s grave lay.  
“I laid flowers there for Paul when he left,” Ringo whispered.  
“You did?” John responded.  
“Yeah, and there were always some there, though. That’s how I knew Paul was alright all these years. Those flowers were from him. I just knew it.”  
John smiled at the smaller man, realizing how kind and thoughtful he was and that out of the friendships John’s had, Ringo’s is the one he’d taken for granted. They all had.  
“Hey, Rings. Me ‘n’ Paul…we love you. You know that, right?”  
“Are you daft? Of course I know it.”  
“I just wanted to say it-.”  
“John.”  
“-nd we’ve always taken y-.”  
“John.”  
“-ted. I know it’s odd-.”  
“JOHN!”  
“What? Christ, Ritch.”  
“Go over there, now. Paul’s not moving.”  
John took off at a sprint to the cocooned mass on the grass in front of a headstone, Ringo close behind. Outward, there weren’t any wounds, except a slight blue tint to Paul’s lips. They got on their knees and John shook Paul, getting a groan and shivering.  
“Paulie!” He tried one more time. The younger man’s eyes fluttered open and the shivering worsened.  
“J-J-J-John?”  
“Come here, you daft bastard.” John pulled Paul in a close embrace, tucking him in his jacket. At this point, John just wanted to stop the shivering and the shaking.  
“I-I-I f-f-f-fell as-s-sleep. S-sorry, Johnny.” Paul mumbled into John’s chest, still violently shaking. He planned to only be there for a little bit and then go back home. An ache in his heart made Paul realize that John probably blamed himself. The warmth slowly returned as John sat on the ground with him, rubbing his back to create a little bit of friction. Paul pulled away to look at his lover’s face. John’s eyelashes were sprinkled with snowflakes and his nose a little pink.  
“It’s not your fault, Johnny, okay? It’s not your fault.”  
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” John knew this wasn’t the best time to fight, but no matter how much Paul said it, he couldn’t help but feel a little responsible for Paul coming out here.  
McCartney’s voice turned quiet. “I’m sorry, John.”  
“That’s not enough, Paul.” John took a deep breath. “Get up, let’s get you home and in the heat.”  
The younger man obeyed, hugging tight to John’s waist and unsure what to say. John was definitely upset and he had every right to be. Paul made a stupid mistake.  
“Give Ringo your keys.” John said emotionless. Paul fished them out of his coat pocket, handing them Ringo.  
A sympathetic look crossed Ringo’s face as he took the keys. “I’ll get your car back to you tomorrow, mate,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “John was really worried, Paul.”  
Paul swallowed and nodded, never looking up from the ground. He knew exactly how John felt, after everything John went through, he didn’t need this.  
Ringo placed a hand on Paul’s shoulder, sending him back to John who waited a few steps away. He watched as the couple increased their distance from him. They had more space between them than he’d ever seen. Ringo could tell Paul desperately wanted to curl up but John was still trying to figure out his emotions. If there was ever a time to be a fly on the wall, Ringo decided it had to be then.  
The ride back to their house filled the car with tense silence. Paul was afraid to say anything and John seemed to dare Paul to say something. The latter’s knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel too tight, sweat glistened on his forehead due to the heat being cranked up to its highest setting. At five in the morning, people were still at home, some waking up, meaning there was no traffic on the roads.  
John focused himself on the shitty songs on the radio, anything to calm him down. He was so angry with Paul.  
“Johnny, please talk to me.” Paul near squeaked.  
“Why?” John snapped, “You don’t want to talk to me.”  
“I’m sorry! I’ve-.”  
“No, Paul. Just…no. You don’t think that little girl isn’t affecting me? It is, but I didn’t go out and nearly kill myself.”  
“I-That wasn’t my intention in going out there. I wasn’t trying to-to do that.”  
“Then why, Paul? Explain to me why I found you in the snow after God knows how long you’d been there.”  
“I just…I don’t know, Johnny! I wanted to talk to her…my mum.”  
“You could’ve died, Paul! I…” John took a deep breath and softened his voice, “I could’ve lost you and there wouldn’t have been any more chances.”  
“I’m sorry, Johnny. Please, realize that I didn’t intentionally go out there to die. I didn’t mean to scare you and I don’t want to fight anymore.”  
John was quiet, a light smile formed on his face, hidden by shadows. “So. No more fighting?”  
“No mor-hang on, are you laughing?” Paul switched on the overhead light in the car. “You are laughing. You bastard.”  
“You just said no more fighting. To me, that means you can’t yell at me anymore.” The smile widened on John’s face.  
“John Winston Lennon.”  
“What?”  
Paul flipped off the light. “I hate you.”  
“Love you too, Paulie.”  
John glanced over at Paul, seeing a smile appearing and disappearing in the light. The roads were empty, with it being five or so in the morning. The tension between them relaxed to a comfortable silence, with Is This Love? beginning to play on the radio. John hummed along to the song, thinking that it couldn’t be any cheesier. Paul chuckled and John started singing as loud as he could. It didn’t take much for Paul to join in.  
As the light turned green for him, John initiated the turn into their neighborhood. Then, John heard Paul scream his name in terror. He looked over to see bright lights barreling towards them and he tried to avoid getting hit, but failed. The other car hit on the passenger side and John’s vision went black.  
~~~~  
Voices. Hundreds of them. Whispering incoherently.  
John couldn’t hear what they said but he desperately wanted to know, so he started shouting. Shouting for them to talk a little bit louder, but they didn’t they kept whispering. John knew they were talking about him and he wanted to know why. He could eventually hear the voices getting louder, saying his name over and over again.  
“John. John. John. John.”  
“He’s coming around.”  
“John Lennon? Can you hear me?”  
John groaned and he fluttered his eyes open, feeling the light burn his eyes a little. He recognized the beeping and uncomfortable stiff sheets.  
“Paul?” He asked, thinking it was a dream or a flashback.  
“John, are you aware of what happened?”  
“No…where’s Paul? We were just in the car. Where is he?” He began to panic, thrashing about and almost hitting the doctor standing over him.  
“John, you’re going to break your IV. Stay still!”  
“Paul. I need to see Paul.” Tears threated to fall. The doctors and nurses avoided his questions and in his mind it wasn’t a good sign.  
“He’s fine, John. I promise. Now please.” The doctor calmed John down, slipping in a sedative. “You’ve suffered a moderate concussion and minor lacerations and burns of the face.”  
John tried to force his eyelids open and lost. “Mmm…”  
~~~~  
Startling himself awake, John scared the young nurse checking his vitals. She was young, obviously new, and he figured he could charm his way into finding out about Paul.  
“Excuse me, nurse?” He asked, making his accent stronger.  
“Yes, Mr. Lennon?” She seemed tense and he knew he had to put on a little more charm.  
John lifted up his hands and lightly touched his face. “Are the burns on my face bad?” Seeing the tensions relax in her posture, he knew he didn’t have much longer before she cracked. John always had a way with looking innocent even though he very well wasn’t. He could create that glossiness in his eyes and widen them enough to rival Paul’s.  
She fussed over his pillow. “Oh, you’ll be fine! Just as attractive as ever.”  
“Attractive?” He acted surprised.  
“Oh, well…of course.” She blushed and John couldn’t help but think, got her.  
John fiddled with the bedsheets, carefully avoiding her eyes. “Thanks…can I ask you a favor?”  
“Depends on the favor, darling.”  
“Paul McCartney. Is he ok? I have to know, please.”  
“I don’t know…but I can check.” She winked and made her way to find the medical chart for a Mr. Mc…McCauley? She hoped she remembered the name. Mr. Lennon acted very worried.  
~~~~  
In another room, Paul slept rather peacefully following the information that John was okay. It was quite a shock to him when an officer came in and detailed the accident to him: a drunk drove through the red light and slammed into the passenger-side of their car. Luckily enough, John swerved enough to make the impact on the rear part of the car, skidding them into a tree. He was informed that John only had a concussion and some minor cuts and scrapes on his face. Paul, however, wasn’t as fortunate. The deployment of the airbag broke his left arm and a few ribs and pieces of glass became imbedded in his right arm.  
The doctor assured him that he would be moved in with John in the morning since neither of them were in critical condition anymore.  
~~~~  
John rested his eyes, waiting for the news on Paul. With his concussion, he wasn’t allowed to watch television, which left him to read the same magazine over and over again. The clock on the wall ticked to 1:32 and he should be sleeping but the headaches and dreams wouldn’t let him. The voices that whispered to him kept coming back every time he shut his eyes.  
“Mr. Lennon?” The young nurse returned with a metal clipboard held tight between her hands. She tried her best to look unemotional.  
“Is that his?” John hoped.  
“It…yes.” She stared at John. “Oh, Mr. Lennon. I’m so sorry…”  
“Sorry?”  
“He passed on…”  
“I need to see him…I need to see him!” John’s brain moved slower than his actions. The nurse had doctors in faster than he realized. They were all pinning him down but he still fought them, he didn’t want to believe that Paul…Paul was…he couldn’t think it.  
“John, calm down. Paul is alright! He’s not dead. Do you hear me? He’s not dead.”  
John’s heart monitor beeped at 140 bpm. “What?”  
“Paul’s fine and alive, just a little banged up. I’m taking care of you both. The other driver’s name was McCauley and the nurse got them confused. The other driver died. Now calm down, you can see Paul in a few hours.”  
“Okay…okay.” John ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Doc?”  
“Yes, John?”  
“The accident. Was it my fault?”  
“No. The driver was drunk and ran a red light. You were lucky you skidded into a tree.”  
With a nod, John closed his eyes in an attempt to get some sleep. Being able to see Paul in the morning relaxed a little bit of the tensions.  
~~~~  
The hospital orderlies moved Paul with John first thing that morning. Paul sat awake, reading a magazine and glancing over a few times to see if John had woken up. After an hour or so, he started to get bored and his casted arm was itching. He tried to stick a finger in the cast, but the itch was too far. Paul knew he looked strange, especially with the exasperated whining.  
“Excuse me, Mr. McCartney?”  
Paul looked up to see one of the nurses standing at the door and he blushed. “Uh, yes?” He knew exactly what she thought he was doing.  
“You have a couple visitors.” The nurse never looked him in the eye.  
“Thanks.”  
She walked away, ushering in Ringo and George, both carrying cards.  
“Hey, Paulie.” George carefully placed a hand on Paul’s shoulder.  
Paul chuckled. “I’m not going to break in half if you touch me, Geo.”  
“I’m just trying to be loving and caring, McCartney.”  
“Please.” Paul snorted, making Ringo snicker as well. The three of them chatted about anything. George’s new girlfriend, Ringo’s conflicting decision to quit his job.  
“Why do you wanna quit, Rings?” Paul asked.  
“I got a taste of being in a band again and it made me realize how much I hate my job. But I know I need to keep it to support Mo. I don’t know what to do.”  
“Quit.” Came a tired voice.  
“John?” Paul immediately turned to face him. “How long have you been awake?”  
“Since George Porgie started detailing his sexual escapades.” John replied flatly.  
“I thought we stopped with that nickname…” George grumbled.  
“Anyway, Ringo, if you’re not happy, quit. If Mo leaves you, then she never actually loved you for you.”  
“He’s right, Rings.” Paul agreed, “You do what makes you happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's writing this and not papers on German history?
> 
> That's right. This person.


	13. Christmas Time Is Here Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a new chapter for this! Hope you enjoy it. Merry *belated* Christmas and Happy New Year!
> 
>  
> 
> Don't own The Beatles and assoc.

John could go home but, much to his chagrin, Paul had to stay another couple days. There were complications with his cuts as they got infected due to a small piece of glass that was missed. Other than that, Paul was healing nicely. It was nearing Christmas and John felt hopeful that maybe Christmas would give them the break they desperately deserved.

Christmas. In just a few weeks John would be celebrating his first Christmas in years. This was the one time of the year that John despised the most. His other half, however, couldn’t wait. Paul constantly hummed songs in his hospital bed. John debated smothering him, but supposed it would ruin the holidays.

He thought some more about it and realized he would be celebrating the holidays with Paul’s family…meaning there was a lot of presents to be bought and wrapped and seeing as there was only one of them with two functioning limbs, John would have to do _both_. The action itself didn’t bother him, it was the constant state of nagging: “you’re not doing it right”, “you have to use _that_ tape”, “I told you Mike’s presents get the Santa paper and Brian’s get the Penguins with Santa hats”. Nope. John really didn’t want to.

Paul’s voice spoke into his head, “But it’s _Christmas,_ Johnnny! Plleeeassseee.”

“Damn you…” John mumbled to himself, mentally noting go buy band aids in bulk. His poor little fingers would need it.

A knock at their door, broke his internal struggle. Ringo stood there with a suitcase in hand.

“Hey-o Johnny…” His usually sad, droopy eyes looked even sadder.

“Uh-oh…” John moved out of the way to let the dejected drummer in.

Ringo looked back up at John. “Mo kicked me out.”

“I’m-”

“Yeah. Can I stay for a bit until things blow over?” Ringo didn’t want any sympathy. He thought Maureen was the love of his life and that she’d always be there to support him. What he really needed was a drink. A lot of drinks.

John took his suitcase. “Of course, but that means you’re going to have to help wrap presents and endure Paul’s incessant Christmas caroling.”

“Deal.” Ringo plopped down on the couch in the front room of the house with John still holding his suitcase.

“I suppose I have to feed you, too, your highness.” The younger of the two replied sarcastically.

“As long as you order the food…I’m not trying anymore of your concoctions.” Ringo thought for a moment. “When does Paul come home?”

Ignoring Ringo’s snarky comment about his fabulous cooking skills, John replied. “Tomorrow. Which reminds me, I need help finishing hanging these Christmas lights and decorations. I also need you to stay somewhere else just for the weekend.”

Ringo snacked on some candy in a bowl on the coffee table. “Why? Paul’s got a broken limb and some stitches, shagging might be a bit difficult.”

“That’s not why…can you just?” John, against his character, begged.

Sensing the urgency in his voice, Ringo complied, “Sure. Yeah.” He had to wonder what Lennon had planned for the weekend if it wasn’t for some alone time with Paul.

Then Ringo got it. “Let me see it.”

“See what?” John mumbled on a ladder with a piece of garland in his mouth, trying to hang it over the doorway to the kitchen.

“The ring you nit.”

John dropped the garland and nearly fell. “How the fuck did you…”

“Not as dumb as I look, Lennon. Now let me see it.”

“I don’t have it yet. I have to pick it up from Brian and Jax in the morning. They had Paul’s mother’s wedding ring and I asked if they thought Paul would be okay with me fashioning the band and diamond into a ring for him. They agreed,” John laughed, “and also gave me their blessing to marry him. I had the ring melted down and the diamond broken apart and put back into the ring. Costed me my entire savings to have it done, but I know it will be worth it.”

“Christ, John…didn’t think you had it in you to be a big sap. But in all seriousness, there’s no way he’ll say no to you and to that.”

The garland seemed to be very interesting as John fiddled with the red fluff. “I sincerely hope you’re right.”

“I always am.”

“You sound like Paul.”

“Had to learn from somewhere. Come on, loverboy, let’s put up some Christmas spirit!”

The short drummer proved to be very Paul-worthy as he was just as bad about singing Christmas songs. But he took it a step further and started composing his own. Some of the highlights include _I Wanna Be Santa Claus_ and _Ringo the Red-Nosed Reindeer._ The latter of which John actually found to be rather humorous. They hung the lights on the outside and completed the decorations around the house. Ringo inquired about the tree but John left that for Paul. He knew Paul would want to pick out the tree.

“Why don’t you just get a fake one. It’s easier.” Ringo offered.

“It’s not the same, Rings. There’s something about a real tree…I suppose it’s the smell, really. The pine smell and the sap makes it feel like Christmas. When Uncle George was still alive, we’d go and chop one down ourselves. Mimi’d make a fuss about the pines being all over the floor where the cat would eat them. You know, that’s how we lost our first cat…” John rambled on about his childhood. Things that Ringo didn’t know and probably could have lived the rest of his life without knowing. But, he had to wonder if this is what it was like with Paul. John just rambles and Paul clings on his every word. He could see why John was so endearing to Paul and why Paul so endearing to John. They were meant for each other. Where Paul was lacking, John was strong and vice versa. Ringo could also tell that John really missed Paul. Sure, they hadn’t been away from each other that long, but John hadn’t had anyone to talk to during the nights.

Smiling to himself, Ringo focused back in on John’s mindless talking.

“…and then Stu flung the paintbrush across the room by accident and hit the professor up front. I miss Stu sometimes, he died not long after we started to become friends. Actually, it wasn’t long after I broke off our relationship that-”

“Hang on, what?” Ringo had to make sure he heard that right.

“What? The relationship? Yeah, Paul knows. Didn’t look me in the eyes for a couple days, though. I made him realize that I don’t want to sleep with anyone else but him. Eesh, that sounded bad. I made it clear that I didn’t want a relationship with anyone else but him. Then we were fine. This was a couple months ago, mind you.”

“So…you cheated on Paul when you guys were first together?”

“Regrettably, yes. It took a lot of groveling to get Paul to forgive me.”

“Hm. You should write a novel about your relationship with Paul. It’d be a bestseller.”

John laughed loud. “That it would, son. That it would.”

~~~~

John had to admit he was a little excited to have Paul see the house. It did look pretty good. So, he thought he’d blindfold Paul so he couldn’t see it.

That morning John did pick up the ring and he could tell it would work by the look on Brian and Jax’s face. According to Jax, Brian had already tried the ring and agreed that Paul wouldn’t say no.

On the way to the hospital, he gave the ring to Ringo (see what he did there?) for safe keeping. They picked up George along the way because they all wanted to pick Paul up at the hospital. John really just wanted it to be him, but he had to make the annoying begging stop.

Paul sat patiently on his hospital bed clicking his heels and waiting to be picked up. John was supposed to be there over an hour ago.

“I _told_ you it was in this building, George.”

“Well why did you listen to me then?”

“Because I…just shut up, will ya!”

“That’s what I thought…”

“I ought to thump you right now.”

Paul chuckled at the bantering between his best mate and boyfriend and hopped off the bed to meet them in the lobby.

“Paulie!” Ringo somewhat bounced over to Paul.

Paul smiled in return and graciously accepted the hug. “Hey, Rings.”

John gave Paul a quick kiss. “Sorry we’re late, love. _Somebody_ shouldn’t be allowed giving directions.”

George snorted and went in for his hug with Paul.

“It’s fine, really. I’m just glad to be going home and eating something other than hospital food.”

“And sleep with John.” Ringo added, thinking he didn’t say it out loud.

John winked at him. “Well, Rings, that’s always a bonus.”

Ringo blushed a light shade of scarlet. “That’s not what I meant you randy bastard.”

Scarlet then rushed to Paul’s cheeks as John pinched his butt. “It’s true, though.”

“I’m making an executive decision to leave.” George spoke up with disgust written on his face.

John snorted. “What executive powers do you have? As I recall, you are the youngest out of all of us.”

The others couldn’t help but laugh as George looked ready to pummel John’s face. “Paul is only a few months older than me. I thought we were grown-ups, anyhow, where these trivial things don’t matter.”

“Oh, they matter, son. They always do.” John started walking away after a wink. “Come along, Paulie. Let’s get you home.” Paul moved next to John, fitting into his side. Although he was a bit taller than John, Paul could still make himself comfortable. Like normal, the Lennon/McCartney duo left a grumbling George and complacent Ringo to walk behind.

Ringo patted George’s shoulder. “At least you’re not the short one.”

~~~~

George and Ringo were dropped off at George’s place to give Paul and John some time alone. Plus, John still needed to tell Paul that Ringo would be staying with them, hopefully, momentarily. The car ride back to their home was pleasant and comfortable with John content with just listening to Paul hum and occasionally sing along to the Christmas music on the radio. Some of the tunes were too tempting not to sing along to and John joined in with the consequence of a smug grin from Paul. Paul knew that John Winston Lennon was a self-pronounced Grinch.

However, Paul was pleasantly surprised to find the house completely decorated in lights and tinsel. “And his heart grew three sizes,” Paul had said to John very happy. John let the two of them inside and Paul’s grin turned into a joyful smile. As much as John hated Christmas, he loved that look on Paul face.

Green and red and silver lit up the entire house, but in a tasteful way. Paul had collected little vintage decorations from craft markets and John found a place for all of them, making sure to place his favorite one in sight, which was a small wooden ladder with two elves and Santa Clause climbing up. Paul took his good arm and ran those fingers through John’s hair.

“Thank you, love, this is absolutely wonderful. You’re wonderful.” Paul gave a light, lingering kiss on John’s lips. “But, um, where’s the tree?”

John chuckled at the concern. “As much as I want to, I can’t take all the credit. Ringo helped a bit. For the tree, I figured you would want to choose that with me.”

“I love you.”

“You better. It took me two showers to get the Christmas smell off me. And about Ringo…there’s somethin’ I gotta tell you.”

Paul sat down on the couch, eyebrows twisted in worry. “Yeah? Is everything okay?”

“Ringo has to move in with us. Mo kicked him out…and he quit his job.”

“Oh. Is he okay after that? I know he loved her.”

“I couldn’t really tell, he wouldn’t talk about it. He just listened to me ramble on and occasionally sang Christmas songs.”

“Well, we can clean out the storage room, there’s probably stuff in there I can throw away or donate and make that a room for him temporarily. Normally I would just let them use Mike’s room but who knows how long Ringo’ll be here. He can stay in there until we fix up the other room, though.”

“By we, you mean me, right?” John chuckled and sat down with Paul.

“I’m crippled, so, yes.”

A sarcastic groan escaped John’s mouth. “Fine, but in six to eight weeks, your IOU is due.”

Laughing, Paul pushed John down on the couch and climbed on top. “I can repay it now, if you like.”

“Am I supposed to find this sexy?” John attempted to ask with a straight face.

“You’re not fooling anyone, Lennon.” Propped up with his right elbow and knees, Paul nuzzled John’s neck affectionately. “It’s been weeks. I know you’re desperate.”

With a more serious tone, John spoke. “I don’t want to hurt you, Macca.”

“You won’t. I promise. Now, let’s move this to the bedroom. This couch isn’t big enough.”

“Lead the way, princess.”

****

Ringo moved in with Paul and John the next day. For the time being, he’d bunk in Mike’s room and would help Paul and John clean out the other room. But, as he promised John earlier, he would leave them alone that weekend. Ringo kept the ring safely locked away until John needed it. He’d taken a peek at it and immediately thought Paul would be stupid to say no. John even detailed how the proposal would go. He planned to get their Christmas tree this weekend and as soon as they picked one out, John said he’d get down on one knee right in front of the tree. Ringo just had to give a little chuckle because who knew John could be such a cheesy romantic?

The weekend approached fast, almost too fast for John. He’d been driven crazy by Paul’s almost non-stop state of holiday panic. Reassurance after reassurance that Mike, Jax, and Brian had enough to open from them had absolutely no effect. Paul was going insane and was going to drive John into a mental hospital. Luckily, John got Paul to agree to take a break for the weekend to pick out the tree. He purposefully decided to go to a popular tree seller where there would be a lot of people because let’s face it, John’s a little showy.

It was a perfect winter day to fit with John’s plan. Completely perfect. There was a fresh blanket of snow covering the grass, but not so much that you couldn’t see some little tiny spots of green poking out of it. The temperature fell a little on the cold side, though. Nothing a scarf, hat, and gloves wouldn’t fix. John stared at Paul’s left hand poking out of the cast and smiled at the thought that in less than two hours there will be a ring there…or so he hoped.

“John, I need your help getting my shirt on.”

John snapped out of his daydream and laughed at the sight in his and Paul’s bedroom. Paul had somehow gotten stuck in the t-shirt and wiggled around like a poor rendition of the Hustle.

“Baby, we need to work on your dancing skills.”

“Shut up and help me, will ya?”

“Touchy.” John shuffled the shirt down Paul’s body, but not missing the opportunity to tease him too. He made sure to run his hands down Paul’s sides as the t-shirt came down, knowing full well that Paul’s sides were the most ticklish. In reaction, John’s unsuspecting victim let out a high-pitched yelp and punched with his right fist into John’s arm.

Paul smiled, clearly not upset at John’s antics. “Let’s just go get the tree, you twit.”

~~~~

The tree lot looked like a little forest in the empty lot where it stood. People wandered and weaved in and out of the various trees, all hoping to find the perfect tree to give the finishing touches on Christmas. John and Paul, in particular, were looking for a small, fat tree with lots of branches. Over the years, Paul collected ornaments he found at restores and thrift shops. He loved the antique look it gave the tree, especially matched with his great grandmother’s (his real great grandmother) star. The star had burned spots, but they now looked to be a part of the yellowing star. The line of red outlining the figure, ever redder even with age. It reminded Paul of his mother, who loved the star and loved to tell stories about the same star, saying how it was hand made by St. Nicholas and delivered by his helpers. A story Paul always hoped to tell to his children one day.

“You still there, Paulie, love?”

John had hooked his arm in Paul’s right, leading an unknowing Paul through the maze of evergreens.

“Yeah,” Paul answered, “Just thinking how nice this is, looking for our first tree for our first Christmas together since, you know... even if it is a bit nippy out.”

“I know. Have ya found anythin’ that’s caught your fancy. Besides me of course.” John flashed him an award-winning smile.

“Ha-ha. No, not yet. How about we split up and look. Find the squattiest and bushiest tree you can.”

“Break on three… I go left, you go right?”

“Sounds like a plan. Ready?”

“One…” John started.

Paul laughed as John took a fight-or-flight stance. “Two…”

“Three!” They said together and Paul watched John take off to the right instead of the left.

John looked around the lot for fifteen minutes, not finding what Paul wanted. The ring started to feel heavy in his pocket as he just knew Paul was out there finding the one tree to rule them all. He shouldn’t feel nervous but he was. The cold couldn’t even keep him from sweating as he heard the unmistakable sing-songy voice from the left of the lot.

“Johnny! Come here!”

His feet took him slowly over to the edge of the tree lot where Paul fiddled with a plump, small tree. “You found what you wanted, then?”

“This one’s perfect, Johnny. Just look.” The smile of Paul’s face and the happy glitter in his eyes were everything to John and it gave him the confidence to move forward.

“Alright. Go get the sales person and we’ll get it.”

Paul happily skipped off and John re-checked the ring in the box and drew a deep breath. Looking around he realized not many people were around, so he quickly gathered some people.

“Excuse me misses and sirs,” he asked in his most polite voice. “Can you gather round over here for a mo’? Pretend to look at trees and such? I’m about to propose…” Letting the words actually slide off his tongue felt funny, but real and absolutely right.

Several people smiled and whispered excitedly, earning a warning from John to be nonchalant about the whole thing because his boyfriend was completely clueless and he would like it to be a surprise.

“Here, he said the tree would be 32. Cash only. I’ve got about twenty in my wallet if you have 12.”

Without a word, John took Paul’s right hand, pulling him towards their future tree. His heart beat much faster than normal and he tried to control the amount of shaking. When they were positioned in front of the tree, John cupped Paul’s face with his right hand.

“Paulie. These past few months have been a roller coaster ride. You and I both know that, but it’s normal for us. If we didn’t take these ups and downs, I would think there’s something wrong… I’m getting off subject.” John closed his eyes and breathed in and out. “Paul, I don’t think there are any words to describe how much you’ve helped me or how much I love you. I can be a nasty, malicious, overbearing asshole, but you take it with a grain of salt and continue to give me so much love that sometimes I don’t think I deserve. You have so much love to give and I’m so entirely grateful that you’ve given most of it to me. That being said, I want so many more years of that love from you and I want to give it back to you. I want to prove to you that I can love you like you deserve to be loved.

“This roller coaster of a relationship we’re on is the most thrilling and exhilarating experience of my life and I’ve learned so much. About you. About me. And most importantly, about family and bonding. Years ago, when we first met, I never expected I’d be standing here in front of you…”

“John…” Paul barely spoke out, blinking away tears mixed with happiness, sadness, and whatever the hell else he felt at that moment. He took in the sight in front of him, the insecure sixteen-year-old he knew coming out in full view in front of so many people. John’s entire face gleamed with happiness and hope and Paul held his breath because he knew what was coming next.

“James Paul McCartney.” John kneeled on one knee, looking up at the angel-like figure in front of him. “If you would have me, I want to spend every waking moment with you for the rest of my life…”

Paul’s whole body shook as John pulled out a small black velvet box from his coat pocket. Once opened, he stared at the glittering silver in the box. It was simple with a bigger diamond and four smaller ones, two on each side of the bigger diamond. They curved over top of the band, creating an illusion that there were two bands which wove together to create the ring. A small part of him had to wonder how John afforded a ring like it, but the major part of him was stuck in disbelief.

“So. Paulie…” John let out a little chuckle watching his breath in the cold December air. “Would you marry me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Year Five will be updated soon, too!!!! Stay tuned for that!
> 
> <3 RingosLiverpool8


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. I'm sorry for taking so long to update but ideas are getting scarce. I know I keep saying this but it really is true now. I've only got probably two or three more chapters planned. I'm thinking it's time to give this John and Paul a happy ending, don't you? I know it's cliché, but they deserve it.  
> Happy Reading!
> 
> I don't own the Beatles.

“So. Paulie…” John let out a little chuckle watching his breath in the cold December air. “Would you marry me?” The tip of his nose started to go numb as McCartney only stared at him, mouth slightly parted. Definitely _not_ the reaction John hoped for, but suddenly a little girl in a purple tiara tugged at Paul’s pant leg, drawing the younger man’s attention.

“You have to say yes.” She whispered, well, sort of. John could hear her, too.

A nervous chuckle escaped John’s lips. “Smart girl…”

“She is…” Paul smiled at her and then turned his head back to the man still on the ground in front of him. After a few more seconds of staring, Paul fell to his knees as well, taking John’s face in his mitted hands. “Yes, you sappy git.”

“What was that? I don’t think I heard you.” Lennon said, failing to conceal the shake in his voice and the emotions trying to come out of his eyes.

Paul laughed and stood back up, taking John with him. “I said ‘yes’, you daft idiot.”

“Just checking…” The ring was a perfect fit when John tenderly slid it on Paul’s casted finger. The latter inspected the design in the moonlight and stepped closer with a full grin on his face.

“I’m waiting.”

“For what? You got the bloody ring, didn’t ya?” John wiped at his nose, not sure if it was from the cold or something else. He’ll blame the cold, though.

Paul chuckled, pulled John in and captured his lips. John knew they would remember that kiss because he felt even more fire and passion radiating from his boy- _fiancé. His_ fiancé. Six years ago, had anyone told John he’d be where he stood right now, he would have laughed in their face. Yet, here he was. After everything, something good has happened. After all the heartache and Greek tragedy-like events, JohnandPaul could finally have a happy ending. The two of them broke apart on a man clearing his throat.

“Your tree was paid for, do you need help loading it?”

Without breaking eye contact, John and Paul responded together. “Yes. Thank you.”

They led the tree salesman to Paul’s vehicle where he strapped it to the top. “Congratulations and have a happy Christmas.”

“Thank you and all your customers. I think you got a customer for every Christmas, now.” Paul smiled at the man who responded with an equally large grin and a nod. Biting his lip, he ducked into the car.

John tightened up his jacket and got into the driver’s side. Inside, they were quiet. Next to him, Paul unconsciously fondled the ring. John adjusted his jacket again before starting the car.

“You don’t need to fix your clothes, love.” Paul stated, staring ahead.

“Huh?”

“I said, you don’t need to fix your clothes because you won’t be wearing them much longer.”

****

Christmas came and went, leaving January to culminate her own set of troubles. Paul and John had a wedding to plan. Of course, everyone found out over Christmas that they would be getting married, so Brian and Jax and Mimi gave their contributions to the cost, both of them having set aside funds for that purpose. Together, they had more than enough to plan an elaborate wedding plus a lengthy honeymoon.

However, with Mimi’s contribution came a set of requests on how the wedding should be set up.

  1. Summer wedding. She hated the cold.
  2. His cousins and extended family (only some) of her choosing had to be invited.
  3. She had to approve the color scheme and flower arrangements
  4. John MUST wear a tux.



The last, Paul assured her John didn’t have a choice in. There were other parts of the list but John successfully talked her down to four. Mimi wanted them to have a large wedding. Both Paul and John turned that down quickly. A small wedding was enough for them. A small wedding in the park with the reception at the historic estate of some politician. It would be bigger than the actual wedding: music, dancing, and cake.

The couple – mostly Paul – compiled a list of things to do., to which John suggested they hire a wedding planner. And that is what started their first fight as an engaged couple.

“I told you I could do this, John. Is there a reason you keep doubting me?” Paul fumed after being asked about a wedding planner for the hundredth time.

“Oh!” John pressed his hand to his chest in mock offence. “Excuse me! I forgot that you can do _everything_ and you don’t need anyone else because only _you_ can do it.”

“John you’re being absolutely ridiculous! I don’t-”

“Yes. Yes, you do, Paul. I case you’ve forgotten, this is my wedding, too. You’re marrying _me._ Although, I’m sure if it was possible, you’d marry you in a heartbeat.”

“Do you really think I’m that conceited, John? I’ve asked your opinion of venue, colors, flowers, bakery, and catering and all you’ve given me is a grunt in response! So don’t you dare say I haven’t given you a chance, John Lennon, because I’ve given you plenty.”

“I started responding that way because the options you gave me we’re all yours. What if I wanted white and purple flowers? You gave me the option of royal blue and white. _You_ chose those. Not me.”

“Purple would be-”

“See! Right there, Paul. I-”

“Would you let me speak?” Pail interrupted. John had made a very valid point and Paul felt like an awful person. “I said, purple would be attractive, love. We’ll go with purple and white flowers. You were right. _We’re_ getting married. I need your voice, too, to make it work.”

“Really?” John asked, astonished that he won an argument.

“Yes. Really.” Paul laughed. “Let’s take a break, love. I think this wedding stuff is making us cranky.”

“I think so. How about a movie?” John yelled from the living room.

“Sounds great. Just find something on Netflix. I’ll mix a couple of drinks for us.” Paul poured himself a rum and coke and mixed John a Brandy Alexander. Eventually, he heard the familiar ringing of the Disney opening and he smiled to himself. _I’m marrying a child,_ he thought fondly, finishing up their drinks.

“Brandy Alexander. You know me so well, babe.” John patted the seat next to him which Paul gladly accepted and chuckled when he saw they were watching _Lilo & Stitch. _Paul wondered if this is what it would be like when they’re married. Together cuddled on the couch and watching a movie on the weekends, lazily kissing on the couch until things became too heated. He had to wonder if they’d still be doing this when they were old geezers. Letting the thoughts slip away, Paul sipped at his drink and focused on the movie.

They made it halfway through the movie before the phone rang, marking the end of their peaceful evening, though John was determined to just ignore it.

“Just let it ring, Macca, love.” He mumbled into the soft dark hair next to him. It amazed him to think Paul had been using the same shampoo since he’d known him. John wasn’t complaining. However, the smell of coconut scented things tended to turn him on and _that_ sometimes turned into an issue.

“’M’kay.” Paul nuzzled into his fiancé. The phone however, continued to ring relentlessly. It was two more times before Paul got up to answer it, much to John’s dismay and loss of warmth. But, he continued to watch the movie, anyway.

Moments later, Paul returned, shaken and a little pale. “John. Stop the movie.”

Lennon hit the pause button on the remote. “Who was it?”

“Johnson & Truman Law Office.”

“Fuck. What did they want?”

The younger man sat beside him, a look of apprehension adorning his face. “They called because of Cynthia.”

“Cynthia?” John sat up straight now.

“She-she died, Johnny.”

“That’s impossible…”

Paul took John’s hands. “She had an aneurysm. They didn’t call about that, though.”

“Then what?”

“A child.” Paul’s voice was quiet now. “She had a child, love, and-and you’re listed as the father on the birth certificate.”

John stood up quick, accidentally knocking Paul’s face with his elbow. “Oh, shit. Paul.” He grabbed Paul’s face in worry.

“No. I’m fine.” McCartney pushed the hands gripping his cheeks down affectionately. “You aren’t. I can see it.”

“Cyn told me she lost the baby. She told me…”

“I know, Johnny. We can’t worry about that now, we already have Ringo here and Mike will be here in the summer. We’ve got the nursery still, I suppose, but fixing it will take time. Mike’ll have to give up his room or share it.”

“Why would she lie to me?” John asked, still in shock.

“I wish I knew, darling. But it happened and we have a child now. They’re bringing him next weekend.”

“Him?”

“Julian.”

“Like ‘Julia’?”

“Like Julia.” Paul smiled in admiration of the slight raise and wonder in John’s voice, seeing the ‘I’m in deep thought’ look. The look was almost like his eyes would glass over, although not completely. A shine in them would let Paul know whether the thought turned good, bad, or..ahem… _dirty._ Paul prided himself on being able to read John like a Stephen King novel, though, this time he wasn’t sure which one it could be as they were flashing by so quickly.

“He’s already six, Paulie. What if he doesn’t like us. Or me. He’d love you, I’m sure. I’m just the bastard father who wasn’t around. Just like mine.”

“John Lennon. You. Are not. Your father. Cyn wouldn’t have talked you down. And besides,” Paul added, “It’s not your fault, you didn’t know.” He knew John was worried, why wouldn’t he be? This was different than expecting a child. But that didn’t mean John wouldn’t be a great parent, even if the child was past the ‘trust stage’. Paul just couldn’t imagine Cynthia would have raised a child anything less than perfect. That little sliver of doubt, however, forced its way up: what if, though? What if Cynthia told little Julian that John was some kind of monster, that he’d run off at the mention of the words “I’m pregnant”? What if Julian was a complete terror? Paul knew he was to push these doubts away or else John would feel them, too.

“Okay,” John said.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, Paul. Let’s do this. We wanted a child, and now we have one.” The statement sounded filled with confidence which didn’t fit John’s characters at all.

“We’ll have to redecorate the nursery, something fit for a six-year-old.” Paul sighed and spoke quiet. “We can’t have a wedding and a child, John. Not in one year, we’ll be drained financially.”

“Then postpone the wedding. We’ll get married next year or the next, Macca. I mean, what’s gonna change, really? We already live together. I’ve deflowered the princess-”

“John!”

“What? Anyway, the only difference is I’ll be wearing a ring. I would say, ‘fuck the wedding’, but you know Mimi would murder me first and then go after you.”

“One step at a time, then?” Paul snuggled in close, feeling the pressure of John’s arm around him tighten.

“One step at a time.” John kissed the top of his head. “Ohana.”

“What?”

“Ohana.”

Paul scoffed. “John.”

“What?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah well, I’m a about to be your idiot permanently,” John gloated.

“You always were, darling.”

****

“I’m nervous, Paul.”

Paul pushed a strand of auburn hair from John’s forehead. “We’ll be fine. I know we will.” Today was the day that they picked Julian up, the first time they would both be meeting him. Paul looked around the lawyer’s office. Law books lined the back wall and the upholstery a dark shade of green. Due to the dark interior, the room took on a rustic look from the yellow lights emanating from the lamps with shades the same color of dark green as the chairs and couch.

“How’re we even supposed to see what Julian looks like in here. It’s so damn dark.” John rambled showing his nervousness. “I always thought lawyers were bloodsuckers, this just proves it. Shades drawn, little interior light…”

“And I forgot the stake. Silly me.” Paul smiled, willing to play along to ease his partner.

“Great. Now we’re all gonna die and we don’t even have Ringo to sacrifice first.”

Paul snorted and tilted his head back in laughter, easily infecting John with a fit of giggles. They didn’t notice the lawyer come in, a stout man with a greasy receding hairline, escorting a young boy who tried hiding behind his legs.

“Ahem,” the man coughed in disapproval.

“Oh! Sorry, sir. My apologies. I’m Paul McCartney. We spoke on the phone.” Paul stood up and approached the lawyer with an outstretched hand. The little boy behind him cowered and retreated further behind, something Paul didn’t fail to notice.

“I’m afraid you spoke with my partner, Mr. Truman…” the lawyer looked back and forth between Paul and John. “Law partner, that is.” Mr. Johnson wrenched the boy from behind him and nearly slung him forward, a gesture that made Paul want to punch the man and also hope that he didn’t have any children. “Your background check came up clear except for a few charges of public intoxication…”

“That was years ago, sir. I was sixteen-”

Johnson carelessly flipped through a file in his in hands. “Not from you, Mr. McCartney. From Mr. Lennon. Two years ago.”

Paul glanced back at John before answering. “He’s changed. I can attest to it.”

“Oh, they’re not preventing you from getting Julian, here. I’m just stating a fact of the case.”

“Well, um, can we have a moment with him, please? If there’s nothing more? I’ve faxed all the paperwork in they mailed us.”

“There is one thing before that,” Mr. Johnson eyed them, sporting a raised eyebrow. “Julian’s step-father beat him. It became evident to social services while Mrs. Powell was in the hospital. That’s when you were contacted, or rather Mr. Lennon. Mrs. Powell left no will upon her death.”

McCartney’s eyes flickered down to Julian and back up. “Do you mind letting go of his arm?” Memories of his own childhood flashed in his mind. What is it with dead-beat fathers in their lives?

“Hm? Sure. There’s nothing more from me, so you are free to take him.” A nod to both men and the lawyer was out the door. Julian tried to run out, but Paul caught him softly with an arm around his torso.

“Hey,” Paul cooed and dropped to his knees, “I know you’re terrified. So was I when I lost my family. They put me with a new family who were totally new to me. I had my little brother who wasn’t much older than you. Just like you, my father hurt me. It feels bad, to have the person you want to love you the most, end up hating you in the end. Eventually, everything turned out alright. Me and my brother got taken in by a wonderful family, who I wouldn’t trade for anything.

“We’re those new people to you, Julian. Lucky for you though, your father. Your real father,” Paul added, “is still here and wants you in his life so badly.”

John wasn’t sure what happened next, but one moment Julian was staring at Paul, eyes rimmed in tears and the next Julian was latched onto him, fully crying. He stood frozen until Paul urged him to get down and hug the child. And he did. Julian clenched at John’s shirt like the edge of a cliff. He picked up the tiny person, burying his nose in the boy’s hair. It didn’t go unnoticed by either of them that Julian looked so much like John, right down to the same aquiline nose and eye shape. He even sported an unruly tuft of auburn hair.

They stood there until Julian calmed down to a slight sniffle. Seeing him cry as hard as he did broke both Paul and John’s heart. Paul had to wonder how much love Julian had actually been given. There was no doubt that Cynthia would have but how much did her husband allow her to give?

“Julian?” Paul approached them cautiously for fear of Julian to start crying again. “We’re going to go home, now. Is-Is that okay?” He brushed the hair on Julian’s forehead as the boy nodded in John’s neck. McCartney smiled and took a chance by pressing a light kiss to the side of his head. It was accepted with the smallest of whines which no one would have heard had they not been standing next to the boy.

“You have your own room and everything, Julian.” John whispered, following Paul out of the office. Julian looked up at his father in response.

The backdoor of the car was already opened with the car seat already in. Paul let John strap his son in. He figured John needed this confidence more than he did. Silence captured the atmosphere, but John couldn’t feel the tension that hung there before. He hoped Julian was starting to trust them at least a little bit.

“This infernal thing…” John mumbled, trying to fasten the seatbelt in the straps much to Paul’s amusement. “Oi, you up front. Shut up and let me figure this out.” A small giggle next to his ear caused him to stop and look up.

“It goes in that one first.” Julian pointed with a very ‘John Lennon’-like smug grin on his face.

“Even a six-year-old can figure it out faster than you, Johnny.” Paul joked, making Julian laugh.

“Kid, you’re supposed to be on my side.” John poked Julian’s stomach playfully and continued to, correctly, strap in the car seat. “Hah! John, 1. Car seat, 0.” He looked at his son who stared back with curious eyes and what came out of his mouth shook John more than it should have.

“Can I call you ‘Dad’?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's that for a surprise?? ;)
> 
> <3 RingosLiverpool8


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Almost done. I can't believe it. Hope you all are doing great. Have a fantastic day, night, morning, etc. and enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> I don't own the Beatles

The mere fact that Julian had to ask that burned inside John and Paul’s look of utter heartbreak didn’t help any either. It left a couple things to wonder, though. Had Cynthia told him about the child, would he have ever had Paul back in his life? Part of him believed they would never had met again, leaving John to believe that Paul was dead or to forget him altogether. The other part, and by far the biggest, knew they would have met again. Paul was his soulmate. John had to shake away the thought of Paul possibly being a ‘homewrecker’, because let’s face it, John wouldn’t have been able to ‘just be friends’ and the ol’ Lennon Charm was Paul’s kryptonite. Realizing he hadn’t responded, John left his thoughts at that. The small human looked at him with pleading eyes and all he could do was envelope Julian as tight as he could.

“I don’t think I would want you to call me anything else.” John whispered to him. “And Jules,” he pulled away, “he’s your dad, too.”

The child’s expression turned to wonderment, his familiar almond eyes darting between Paul and John.

“Pretty nice deal, huh, kiddo?” John laughed as Paul reached back and patted Julian’s knee.

“I love it, daddy.”

Ruffling his child’s hair, he replied without so much as a second thought, “Me too, Jules. Me too.”

****

Julian Lennon turned out to be just. Like. His father. One moment Paul and John would be enjoying a relaxed evening, curled up on the couch watching T.V. and next Julian would come barreling through the room, screaming about being a Viking and slaying his enemies. His enemies? Almost always, no always, Paul and John. That is, until John defected and Paul got tackled. Though, John used it as an excuse to touch Paul without Julian asking questions. More than once, Paul walked away with heavy bruising on his stomach and butt. Julian was ruthless. But it didn’t make either of them love him any less.

Paul once asked Julian after a particularly rough battle and during some post-battle cuddling. “Why not Ringo as your enemy?”

Julian responded, “He’s my trusted advisor and wizard.” As if Paul couldn’t have asked a more ridiculous question.

“That sounds more like King Arthur than Vikings, love.” Paul observed and then instantly regretted it because that did it. Soon enough Julian wanted to know more about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table and Excalibur and Magic. All this information meant more staged battles and new roles. Julian was obviously King Arthur and John Lancelot. When George came over, he assumed the role of Galahad with Ringo as Merlin. Even Mike got to be Gawain. All noble knights, leaving the role of Morgan le Fay, the villain, to Paul.

“Can’t I be Uther or Kay?” Paul complained.

“Papi and Grampa are Igraine and Uther.” Came the answer and “I need an evil person to defeat.” The argument had only one victor and it certainly wasn’t Paul. And that, John constantly held that over him.

Paul wouldn’t trade it for anything. Even after all the paperwork was complete, Paul and John kept waiting for something to happen that would rip their happiness from them, but none came and Julian grew content and comfy with his parents.

Money got tight especially after Ringo moved out and in with George. He had been paying half of the bills and groceries and when that stopped, John’s limited hours at the tutoring center weren’t enough, resulting in him picking hours working at Brian’s record store.

George also worked there as well as Ringo when he wasn’t session drumming for a friend of Brian’s. For John, working in a record store he used to steal from ignited a spark. Music. John wanted to be famous. That was always his dream. He bet Aunt Mimi just wanted to scream ‘I told you so!’ at him. John knew he could still achieve his ambitions. He only needed Paul.

This all came to him on a day when the shop wasn’t as busy and Brian took off for a business trip, leaving the shop under John and George’s supervision.

John leaned on the register counter, flipping through a magazine when a couple of records appeared in front of him. He sighed and ran each of them under the scanner.

“Good choices,” he commented on the Elvis, Buddy Holly, and Chuck Berry records he bagged and handed to the customer who he recognized instantly. “Ivan?”

The man in front of him furrowed his eyebrows and ran a hand through his still jet-black hair. “Do I know you?”

“It’s me. John?’

“John who?”

“John Lennon.” John observed the recognition appear in Ivan’s eyes and grinned stupidly.

“Fuckin’ shit, Lennon. Didn’t recognize you. You’ve changed a lot, mate. Wearing glasses and such.”

John fiddled with the round specs on his face and stepped out from behind the counter to give his friend a hug. The last time they’d seen each other had been before Cynthia lied to him about the baby.

“You still look the same. How’s life?”

“Good, I guess. I’m here visiting a few people but I moved to America.”

“Bloody hell,” John laughed. “Who’d’ve ever thought, eh?”

“Exactly. Married with kids, too.” Ivan wiggled his left hand.

“An American girl, then?”

“Jenny and I -” Stuart shook his head. “Enough about me. You look good. To be honest, I thought you’d be dead, John.”

“Engaged with a kid,” John answered, “For a while I thought I would be, too.”

“Got another one pregnant, John? They do make protection.” The other man joked.

“Shut up. That’d be impossible gathering that she’s a he.”

“Ah. Then the kid?”

“Cynthia lied to me. She never lost our child. I’m not angry at her before you say it. I understand why she did it.”

“Well, who’s the lucky lad?” Ivan asked, genuinely curious.

“Well…Paul.”

“McCartney?”

“Who else?”

“I thought there was a huge falling out between you two?”

“I know. The whole situation was a huge, colossal misunderstanding.” John couldn’t think of anyway else to describe it.

“Have you had lunch?” Ivan asked suddenly.

“Not yet, but I can.” John turned around to the area behind the counter. “GEORGE. TAKE THE FLOOR. ‘M GOING TO LUNCH.”

“ONLY IF YOU BRING ME SOMETHING.”

“Hold on,” John mentioned to Ivan. “NO. YOU’VE HAD LUNCH THREE TIMES TODAY. GET YOUR LARD ARSE OUT HERE, HARRISON.”

A crash and a bang later, George called back. “FINE.” And moments later a lanky male emerged and eyed Ivan cautiously. “You’re not cheating on Paul, are you?”

“No! Christ, Geo. This is Ivan. He just walked into the store. You can’t accuse me every time an attractive male comes into the store.”

“Oh! Ivan! How’s it going, mate?” George ignored John’s comment.

Ivan snorted. “Good to see you, George. I’m happily married and still heterosexual. Keep harassing John. I’m sure he deserves it.”

“Naturally.” George replied with a shit-eating grin.

John drug his hands down his face, revealing a look of displeasure. “Let’s go to lunch, Ivan.”

“Sure. See ya, George.”

“Bye.” George replied turning his attention to the computer screen.

As soon as the pair left the shop, Ivan broke the silence. “Tell me everything.”

~~~~

John arrived home an hour late die to a late shipment of records that came in and a new release display for some up and coming singer who John couldn’t be arsed to know the name of.

The front door to his house called his name as soon as he pulled up in the driveway. Mostly because he knew what awaited him behind it. John couldn’t wait to tell Paul about Ivan and to help Julian with his homework. Thoughts like that baffled John, though. If someone asked him ten years ago, if he would be living a very domestic life, he would have laughed in their face. But the truth is, he loved every minute of it.

Sliding the key into the lock, he swung the door open. Instantly, John sensed something off.

“Paul?” he called out.

“In the kitchen.” Came the reply and the house was eerily silent. Not even Julian’s voice or movements could be heard. Even the tone of _Paul’s_ voice sounded odd. So, he dropped his things on the chair in the front room and entered the kitchen. The man in question sat stoic at the kitchen table.

John joined him, slowly lowering himself down into the seat. “I don’t like that look. Did I do something? That looks like the _John is in deep shit_ face.”

Paul shook his head. “No. I got a call from Julian’s school today.”

“Okay?”

“Julian’s in his room He hit another kid. I had to take off work and go pick him up. Contrary to the face, I’m upset with myself.”

“Why’s that?” John grabbed Paul’s hand, stroking it gently with his thumb.

“I yelled at him. Couldn’t quite understand why he would get so violent. I didn’t stop to think, just lectured him and told him he had to stay in his room until I came and got him. Then,” Paul paused with a heavy sigh, “I realized I never asked why believing what his teacher reported, but I never asked _Julian._ I never took into account his side. I’ve done this before, why is it so bloody hard?”

“Bloody hard? Christ, love, you make it looks so effortless. I promise you do. I stare on, green in envy every time Julian comes to you with his six-year-old problems and walks away as if God himself gave him all the answers.” Paul’s silence encouraged John to continue. “Have you talked to him since?” He knew Paul was completely broken up about it since he’d always had an intuition with children.

“No. I didn’t think he’d want to. Johnny, I really did raise my voice at him. The look on his little face…”

“Come on. Let’s do this together, yeah?” John enjoyed the little flash of a smile playing on his fiancé’s face as them both to Julian’s room.

Soon enough, Julian was nestled in between his parents, happily eating his dessert. After some tears and a little bit of explaining, Lennon and McCartney discovered that Julian had lashed out for someone making fun of his having two dads. Both Paul and John decided to only reprimand him for resulting to violence by taking away his plastic Excalibur for a week. However, they did commend him on standing up for himself. In fact, they were a little bit proud, but there was no way they could condone using violence.

After putting their son to bed, the two of them relaxed in their own bed, John scribbling in a notebook and Paul grading papers.

“Ivan came into the shop today. We had lunch.” John suddenly said, causing Paul to jump.

“What?” Paul replied with a bit of acid.

Reading that tone, John got defensive. “Why’d you say it like that? Ivan’s a friend. If you’re insinuating that I’m cheating-”

“No. Jesus, John, why would you think I would immediately jump to that conclusion? I’m just pissed he talked to you. I’ve been trying to get a hold of him for ages and I finally contacted the company he _fucking owns_ in the United States, they gave me some corporate bullshit about him ‘being out of the office’ or ‘too busy’. Frankly, I’ve felt he didn’t want anything to do with us. Was going to invite him to the wedding, groomsman and such. What’d he say?”

“Well,” John explained, “to put it short, he thought you were dead. His people did tell him you called but he put it down to some asshole trying to be funny, Pete or Neil or something. He felt bad as soon as we sat down for lunch. He’s going to be in town for another week and he gave me his phone number if you want to have dinner. Ivan’s got two kids one of them only a year younger than Jules. They’re all here.”

Paul smiled. “Look at you planning dinner invitations.”

The remark earned a scoff from John. “Shurrup.”

“Wasn’t a snide remark, Lennon.” The younger man closed his work, placing it on the nightstand and yanked John’s notebook away also putting it on the nightstand. “In fact…” He climbed on top of John, kissing him in a manner that got John’s pajamas just a little to tight. “You think Julian’s asleep by now?”

John ran his hands down Paul’s back, resting them on Paul’s hips. “Oh, definitely.” He flipped him with one swift movement and John inched his mouth up the other’s neck until their lips connected in a heated, passionate tug-of-war. Both men felt their arousal heighten as the feeling of each other became so intense that even the thin fabric of their pajamas felt like a heavy comforter in the dead of winter.

Neither were sure who broke away first, but John drank in the sight of a sex-flushed Paul McCartney underneath him. Carefully, he outlined the edges of Paul’s face with the tip of his finger, the callouses still there from frequent strumming and playing. Paul shivered from the contact.

“You’re a bloody tease.” He breathed, only audible to John.

“I’ve had lessons.”

“Cheeky… now get on with it.”

John chuckled, brushing his lips on Paul’s collarbone. “Yessir, Major McCartney.”

“Major?” Paul’s eyes perked up in interest. “I think I like where this is going.”

~~~~

The sun poked through the thin lines of the blinds in the master bedroom and Paul sighed before rolling over instinctively to find the body that usually laid next to him, only to find it empty. He was about to call out but a delightful melody of laughter entered his senses like a classical melody. Then, the thud of a misplaced guitar chord. More laughter. Needless to say, Paul’s interest piqued. Quietly, he got dressed in a simple pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that was probably John’s at some point.

In the living room, John had Julian in his lap with the little guitar they had gotten the little one just because. The sight was one Paul wanted to remember and capture forever. Just a few more minutes he watched until he cleared his throat.

Julian wiggled out of John’s grasp, nearly dropping his guitar, in order to get to Paul. “Morning Papa! Daddy wad teaching me.”

Paul picked him up, even though he was a bit heavy. “I saw. Can you play me something?” He asked and then set down a squirming Julian.

“Yes.” He grabbed the guitar from John and plunked away nonsense mumbling random words to go along with it.

When Julian finished, Paul ran a hand through Julian’s hair. “One day you’ll be bigger than Elvis.” He didn’t miss the odd look from John as he said it.

The child beamed up at him and ran off to his bedroom, leaving the guitar behind. “I’m going to play with my knights!”

“Okay!” Paul hollered back, picking up the instrument off the ground.

“Bigger than Elvis, huh?” John asked, suddenly in front of Paul.

“Are you okay?” McCartney certainly didn’t miss the strange look of nostalgia mixed with sadness across John’s face and it worried him.

“Just been thinking is all. What if we got the band back together. You, me, Ringo, George, and we had another go? We were gods, Paul. You remember, don’t you. The lights, the fans, the _thrill_. Hell, even the disgusting venues we played. It was all _worth it._ Goddammit, Macca! I want another turn. I want to be famous, God, how I want it still.” John knew his rant surprised Paul but never thought it would stun him into complete silence, eyes wide and expressionless. Scenarios of rejection flowed into his mind and the thought of them having a fight loomed heavy over him.

He definitely didn’t expect his lips to be attacked with such force.

“I do, too. John. I do. But Julian…we can’t.”

“Paulie. We can’t wait. If we want this, it has to start now. We need to climb back up.”

“Okay.”

John scrunched his eyebrows. “Okay?”

“Let’s do it, then. We’ll make it work. We always do. It’s the story of Lennon/McCartney isn’t it?”

“God, yes.” John captured Paul’s mouth in another kiss, not letting the shake of Paul’s hands escape his notice. They had a long road ahead of them and it wouldn’t be easy. In the next few steps, they’d need each other more than ever. “I have something for you. Was gonna save it for the wedding but I want you to hear it now.”

A smile curled onto Paul’s face and John didn’t think the sun could shine brighter. He grabbed his guitar from the couch and opened his notebook. Paul motioned for him to sit down, the needy bastard wanted John to play it to his face.

“It’s…yeah.” John said but began anyway.

> Two of us riding nowhere
> 
> Spending someone's
> 
> Hard earned pay
> 
> Two of us Sunday driving
> 
> Not arriving
> 
> On our way back home
> 
> We're on our way home
> 
> We're on our way home
> 
> We're going home
> 
>  
> 
> Two of us sending postcards
> 
> Writing letters
> 
> On my wall
> 
> You and me burning matches
> 
> Lifting latches
> 
> On our way back home
> 
> We're on our way home
> 
> We're on our way home
> 
> We're going home
> 
>  
> 
> You and I have memories
> 
> Longer than the road that stretches out ahead
> 
>  
> 
> Two of us wearing raincoats
> 
> Standing so low In the sun
> 
> You and me chasing paper
> 
> Getting nowhere
> 
> On our way back home
> 
> We're on our way home
> 
> We're on our way home
> 
> We're going home
> 
> You and I have memories Longer than the road that stretches out ahead
> 
>  
> 
> Two of us wearing raincoats
> 
> Standing solo
> 
> In the sun
> 
> You and me chasing paper
> 
> Getting nowhere
> 
> On our way back home
> 
> We're on our way home
> 
> We're on our way home
> 
> We're going home
> 
> We’re going home

 

Before Paul could say anything a voice chirped from behind them. “Play it again, Daddy!”

“Please,” Paul muttered quietly.

John patted the couch for Julian to come sit and he climbed up in Paul’s lap. Satisfied, John jumped into the first chords again, this time not bothering to look at his notes. And in that moment, both John and Paul could feel that they _would._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the song is credited to Paul, but I'm taking creative liberties.


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been on a little bit of a hiatus from my stories. So I apologize for the wait and for those of you who've recently commented on my stories, I promise I'm gonna go read them. I don't have data here in Germany and sometimes my phone doesn't tell me I have emails.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> <3 RingosLiverpool8
> 
> I don't own the Beatles.

****

The wind blew softly, like a hand of a loving mother to her child. At least, that’s how Paul felt; another presence was outside with him, even though he was alone. How could he possibly say it was anyone other than his own mother, letting him know everything would be okay. He and John would be okay. Jules would be okay. They had enough bad luck between them. It was time for something good.

“Hey. What’re you doing out here? I woke up and you weren’t there.”

Paul turned around at the sound of his soon-to-be-husband’s voice and then back towards the yard. “Just thinking is all.”

“Not getting cold-feet, are ye, love?” John joked, wrapping his arms around Paul’s waist from behind.

Paul snorted. “Oh, yeah. I’ve decided to leave you at the altar for Ringo.”

“That means I’m stuck with George. How could you do that to me?” John played along. “Send us a postcard.”

McCartney laughed, his smile reaching to his eyes. “Sure thing. Speaking of traveling…I suppose you won’t tell me where we’re going on our honeymoon?”

“Nope.”

“Worth a shot. Not even a hint?”

“Sorry, Paulie. Can’t spoil your dinner with dessert.” John replied with a wink.

“Nice metaphor.” Paul head John chuckle and then fall silent, perhaps feeling the same thing Paul felt not a moment before.

“This is really happening.” John said after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“This is happening.”

“I should’ve probably stayed with Geo and Rings tonight.”

Paul twisted himself around in John’s arms. “Why?”

“They tell you not to look at the bride before the wedding.”

“Piss off.” Paul slapped his chest and then went in for a kiss which John accepted without hesitating. “Let’s go back to bed. We’ll get plenty of this later.”

“Right you are Macca, love. Right you are.”

~~~~

“Are you _sure_ the cake will be here? I’m concerned about a miscommunication. What if they bring it to the wrong place? What i – .”

“Brian has had a terrible influence on you Paul. Calm down, alright?” Jax placed a firm hand on his son’s shoulder. “The cake will be here. Tell me you don’t think Brian double checked everything you two planned?”

Paul huffed in amusement. “You’re right. I’m just so bloody nervous and it doesn’t help that I’m expecting the worst to happen, like any moment, I’ll wake up in a hospital, seventeen and frightened, my father…” He paused, unable to finish and tears threatening at the corner of his eyes.

Jax laid soft hands on Paul’s cheeks. “This is _real_ …Peanut.”

With a playful shove, Paul knocked off the hands on his face. “Oh, God. You know most people use those _endearing terms_ for children, right? Please don’t ever tell John you call me that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Oh? You don’t like that one? Then how about – .”

“No! Please anything but that one. Daaaaddd.”

“My little stinker-winker-bear!” Jax drew heavy on his American accent, pulling Paul into a smothering hug.

“Dot taunted me for _two weeks_ after you called me that! I beg you to not tell John any of this.”

Jax’s smile was mischievous and Paul did. Not. Like it. He opened his mouth to question when a snort sounded from behind him.

“Oh, don’t worry, stinker-winker-bear, John’s already heard it.”

“I swear to all that is holy, John Winston Lennon, if you call me that on the altar, you will not get sex for a year. Am I understood?” Paul ranted without turning around, eyes dangerous on Jax.

The latter balked. “This is too much for my old ears, besides,” he moved from his son’s gaze to the door where John stood, smirking. “You are not allowed in here.”

“Just a little peek, sir! I can behave, sir, I promise, sir! I’ve had lessons, sir.” John replied, dropping to his knees, hands grabbing at Jax’s coat.

Paul laughed, still turned away. “Just because you’ve had lessons doesn’t mean you passed the class, love. Now get up off the floor before you ruin your tux.”

“I’ve always made fun of you for being a teacher, but I realized just now that your teacher-voice is quite the turn on,” flirted John.

Jax threw a disgusted face. “Father is still in the room and can still kick your ass. Get out of here before I shove my –.” His threat was cut off by a disgruntled and slightly worried Brian in the doorway.

“There you are, John! Come on, I don’t think I’ve ever met a grown man who acts more like a child than Jax. Hello, Paul.”

Paul waved, still facing away, but debating turning around.

“Keeps you on your toes. Can’t have you going lazy on me.” Jax winked suggestively.

“Please, stop! My ears didn’t need to hear that. John, humor them and go back to the other room,” Paul requested, exasperated. “And behave.”

“But…muuuum!”

“John!”

“Fine. Fine. I’ll go. But not before this!” John made his way past both parents to wrap his arms around Paul’s waist, whispering in his ear. “Don’t worry, my eyes are closed. I knew you’d be nervous, but my warden wouldn’t let me come visit you. Those bad-luck scenarios you’ve running in that head of yours won’t come true. I won’t let them. And by the way, your arse looks good in that white tux.” With a brush of his lips right behind Paul’s ear, John let himself be led away. 

A sigh escaped Paul’s lips. He knew exactly what Jax tried to do and he felt grateful for it. The edginess and ridiculous nervousness all but flushed away, especially after John’s words.

Laughter.

Paul was laughing and he lost it seeing the look of worry come across his father’s face. No, he wasn’t losing his mind. It was rather that he saw the absurdity of everything. His childhood, his relationship with John. He’d climbed his way back up from somewhere he’d never thought he’d break out of. As far as he’s concerned, today…today he’s untouchable. Immortal. Paul had made it this far without crashing and so maybe, just maybe, fate wasn’t against him.

Maybe it’s been with him the entire time.

~~~~

They’d decided on an outdoor venue, getting permission to hold the wedding in a secluded area with stone ruins littering the ground like stones in a pond. John had come across the place randomly searching rural landscapes on the Google, booked it, and then decided to let Paul know. He remembered how angry Paul had gotten and was expecting to be put outside for the night, but ended up getting some of the best sex of his life. The place really did match everything they both wanted and Paul realized that upon seeing the pictures of the place and the friendliness of the staff.

They’d picked white tuxes to offset the stark green landscape and to rid themselves of the black and white traditions. John’d really tried to get a neon colored suit for them both, but was thwarted by Paul’s raised eyebrow and an expertly executed slap to the back of the head.

The best part, thought, was how everything came together: the flowers, the music, the guests. People whom neither of them had spoken to in years, but invited on a whim, RSVP’d to their wedding and the sheer happiness that spread across Paul’s face was more than John could have asked for.

He glanced around from the side he stood on, admiring the atmosphere created by the wedding (neither of them wanted to walk down the aisle, no matter how much their family members begged). As a child and as a teenager, John hated being dragged to weddings, never understanding the big deal. Why did there have to be a big ceremony when you could just pop on down to the courthouse? No fuss, no crazy relatives. Now, though, John couldn’t see himself giving Paul anything less than a grand ceremony. Well, a form of one. There were only about 45 guests total, mostly Paul’s family and close friends. That’s all they wanted it limited to and they both had to barter with Mimi to keep it that way, though in the end the woman invited some of John’s distant relatives.

It didn’t seem like much time before the music started and the wedding began. The procession started with Ringo, Julian, Mike and George taking their spots where John and Paul would stand, respectively. John would be meeting Paul in the middle, approaching from the sides, Paul escorted by Brian and Jax. Lennon felt a little sting of jealousy in his heart, but still declined Jax’s offer to walk with him.

Taking a deep breath, John proceeded to take a step but felt an arm link around his right arm.

“You couldn’t possibly think I would let you walk alone?”

Mimi stood there, head held higher to see her nephew, but also to show how proud she was. The opportunity presented itself and John wrapped himself around her, trying to convey all the appreciation and love he should have shown all those years ago.

“Now, now. You’re going to be late to your own wedding.”

“You always told me I would be.”

~~~~

_Paul,_

_They told me to write you a love song,_

_That vows were like a love song._

_I found it much more complicated._

_We wrote love songs together_

_Nose-to-nose for hours,_

_The words flowing out_

_Like they wanted to be written down._

_They were always about nameless love,_

_Never about us._

_Writing songs to each other seemed too real,_

_Too naming, solidifying, concrete._

_We never wanted to put a label on what we were._

_I think, though,_

_It wasn’t for a lack of trying._

_It was just too hard._

_Too difficult to find words to describe **us** _

_And that’s because there aren’t any._

_That, precisely, is why_

_It took me until last night to write this._

_The English language does not have enough words._

_I can only say ‘I love you’ and hope,_

_Hope you always feel those words._

_From now until forever._

_Because I love you._

_~~~~_

_John._

_Biblical. God is gracious._

_I found it fits._

_It only took me letting you go to realize,_

_That He is gracious._

_You know as well as I do that I’m not religious._

_But I can’t help but think someone_

_Is looking out for us._

_Someone brought you back to me._

_Although Mike claims it was him,_

_I can’t help but think our mothers_

_Are playing matchmaker up there._

_I almost feel bad for God._

_They probably pestered the poor entity daily._

_I’m proud, though._

_I’m proud of us._

_Despite everything, we’re standing here_

_With all the people who love us the most._

_We made it through the worst._

_You and I against the world, forever._

_Right, Johnny, babe?_

~~~~

_Clink. Clink. Clink._

Paul looked up from Julian sitting on his lap to see his brother and George and Ringo standing up, champagne glasses in hand. A quick glance at John and he knew whatever came next couldn’t be good. They should have expected nothing less of those three, but the matter stands. Paul is not prepared.

Mike starts off, once the room quiets. “So. Who wants to hear and embarrassing story about Paul?” The rumble of soft chuckles echoed around the small banquet hall. “Kidding. Kidding. Gotta save the best stories for last,” he shot a wink at Paul and John. “Anyway, I get to speak first because I’m the youngest and the one who’s known Paul and John the longest. Shut up, George, it’s true.”

John snorted next to Paul and draped an arm around his chair, probably thinking about how that conversation went down. Paul gripped Johns hand, which hung loosely on his shoulder, more as a security line for what he is sure is about to be the most embarrassing moment of his life.

“Moving on,” Mike continued, “Paul’s quite a bit older than me –.”

“Hey!” Paul interrupted and his brother ignored.

“Paul is quite a bit older than me and so is John. When Paul would take me places when I was little, people always assumed he was my father. Never in a good sense, either. Nasty glances, disgusted whispers. But never once did I see Paul break under it. He always had the strength of a thousand armies that I looked, no, look up to. I still don’t see how he could juggle school, me, John, work, and manage to keep an optimistic outlook on life. What I didn’t see at the time, though, was how much of an impact John also had on my life, on Paul. That strength of a thousand armies I mentioned didn’t come free of emotional baggage. It’s a lot for one person. Now, when I think back, there were cracks in Paul’s façade. But, when John came into the picture…I saw them start to disappear, to mend. I’d never seen Paul allow anyone in like that, not even George. I looked up to John. I don’t remember this, but I seemed dead set on trying to get John to like me. Paul says I used to ask every hour if John wanted tea or coffee or even cookies. John treated me like family. I firmly believe had things gone differently, we would have been. Sooner than this. I’m so incredibly happy, though. My life couldn’t be more perfect. I love you, Paul… and I guess I love you, too, John.”

Slowly, Paul handed Julian over to John to stand up. In a quick movement, he enveloped his brother into a hug. “You little turd,” Paul whispered just loud enough for Mike, voice shaky with threatening emotions.

Mike laughed. “I told you I’d make you cry.”

“I thought you’d embarrass the hell out of me,” Paul said as he pulled away.

A cough from the other side of table drew their attention. George stood up with a shit-eating grin plastered to his face. He pointed to Ringo and himself.

“That’s our job.”

Paul’s eyes immediately jumped to John, who paled. Mike cackled and shoved Paul back down in his seat, giving the floor to George and Ringo. The room hushed again.

“Did I ever tell you,” George began, “the time I locked John and Paul in the closet?”

~~~~

“It’s over.”

John looked over at his _husband_ in the passenger’s seat and responded, “No.”

“What?” Paul balked at the pointedness he’d never heard in John’s voice.

“It’s not over. Just a new chapter.”

The fond smile on Paul’s face made every moment before this worth it for John. They’d made it through the whole wedding without someone or something ruining it. Not even the embarrassing stories from George and Ringo spoiled his mood, because he had to admit, they were rather funny.

Now, though, they were going to be heading off to three weeks as newly-weds. The destination of which John has still not told Paul.

“So. The moment has come, John. Where are we going?”

 _There it is,_ John thought. “Look in the back seat.”

Paul twisted his body to get access the back. A moment later he had a medium-sized, sealed box in his hand.

“Open it.” John urged, trying to force down the smile fighting to appear on his face.

The younger male did as he was told, ripping off the packing tape, his face twisting as he pulled out the contents. “What the hell is this?”

“What is it?”

“It’s Lederhosen.”

“And where does one find Lederhosen, darling?”

“Austria, Switzerland, Southern Germany.”

John rolled his eyes. “Think about it, Paulie.”

“Oh my God.”

“And you call me thick…”

“You’re taking me to Germany.”

Laughter finally escaped from John. “There we go, love.”

“Pull over.”

“What? Why?”

“Are we going to be late for a flight?”

John checked his watch. “No. We have about seven hours before the flight. We have to pick up the luggage from your parent’s house. Why?”

“Pull over.”

Doing as he was told, John thought he did something wrong. “Paul –.”

He was cut off as Paul climbed on top of him in the driver’s seat, kissing him passionately.

“You are a bastard, you know that?” Paul said as he pulled away.

“I think so.”

“Good.” He climbed off and buckled himself back into the seat. “Where are we going in Germany?”

“I’ve booked a hotel in a city called Regensburg. It’s pretty close to everywhere in Bavaria. We can even get to Salzburg, Austria from there. You can reprise your role as Maria von Trapp.”

“George had no right to tell that story.”

“So it _was_ true.” John howled. “Oh, God, Paul. Your poor childhood.”

“I was helping the Children’s Theater, John.”

“Maria von Trapp!”

“Keep going, Lennon, and I promise you, you’ll only have your right hand for the entire honeymoon.”

John narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

“Fine. No more jokes.”

They rode in a comfortable silence for five minutes before John started whistling _Edelweiss._

“John!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's an Epilogue. I also have a new story in the works, but I'm still working out kinks. I will go back and look at the Harry Potter crossover as well as the sport fic. I will try my best.


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 years later....

**Mikes POV**

“Lennon!”  
“McCartney!”  
“Paul!”  
“John!”  
“Welcome back, do you care to spare a minute?”  
The noise and shouting as soon as we entered the airport was insane. Paul and John had only been on tour for three months and they act like it’s been a whole two years. You would think it was the second coming. It has been a whirl-wind of an experience being the official photographer of Lennon-McCartney. I had just started college when John and Paul scored a record deal and not just one. Several companies approached them and in the end Dad made the selection for them. He took over the role of manager for them, which really, made everything a lot easier on Paul. Plus, Dad already knew the workings within the industry, what with owning the record shop. Papa Jax took over the management of the business when things got to be hectic after the Lennon-McCartney mania started.  
It’s all a bit absurd, really. But they’ve been on top of the music charts for five years now. People eat the crap that Paul spills out to them and they just adore John’s unusual wit. As with anyone, though, they have people who don’t like them and their music. I personally wouldn’t attribute it to a dislike of their music. I think people dislike them because they’re married and not afraid to let anyone know it. Paul’s a little bit more reserved in public, but doesn’t refuse John’s romantic PDA advances. John couldn’t give two shits who saw what and it has, more than once, caused a bit of a ruckus in conservative America. Thank God for Paul, though, who can console them with just a side smile and a wink. Bloody git.  
George and Ringo contribute sometimes to the tours and the albums, but they’ve gone off on their own for the most part. George is a permanent figure with another band but often does work with Paul and John. Ringo, believe it or not, is a really popular movie star. He’s been in a lot of blockbuster films and has been up for several Oscars. He also drums for John and Paul, more often than not. The current tour featured him on drums and people went bat-shit crazy over it as well. It’s kind of depressing to think how much more successful they would all have been, had they actually played as a whole band. John, Paul, George, and Ringo sounded fantastic together and a lot of people do clump them as one. Those teeny-bopper magazines do cover stories (mostly on Paul) about them. It’s weird to think that my 34 – year – old brother is a poster on some teenage girl’s room.  
Funny thing happened not long after they started getting really famous…our real family tried contacting us. Paul, being the diplomat that he is, answered. He listened to their excuses that things got lost in translation and we were supposed to be with them all along. That they never blamed him for our father’s death. Paul, thankfully, didn’t believe their bullshit and told them where to stick it. Well, naturally, that didn’t go over well and everything about our past came spilling out. In what our family intended as a blackmail attempt, ended up being a sympathy fest for Paul and me.  
Thus, began the Lennon-McCartney Trust, an organization to combat child abuse and help children who came from abuse find good homes. At least that’s the McCartney side. The Lennon side focuses on the homeless to help them find work and to also rehabilitate them if they had addiction problems. I am the director of the organization because I felt bad only taking pictures. Plus, it puts my business degree to good use. I guess it’s also because I have a personal connection to it.  
Regardless, I’ve never seen my brother happier than he is right now. He’s got the career he’s always wanted, but the most important thing is that he’s got the family he’s always wanted. Julian’s actually becoming more of a “sweetheart” than Paul is. He picked up on how to work the public, like Paul, while also keeping them on their toes with a wit on par with John’s. They also have Mary, who’s six and Sean, who’s two. I’m pretty sure they’re also planning on adopting another once Sean is a little older. Both in appearances and on the inside, they’re the perfect family. John and Paul fight, because they’re John and Paul, but never much more than the occasional yelling match. Never severe enough to cause a scene.  
John’s grown up a lot since the first time I met him and I think it’s because he got tired. I mean, Paul surely had something to do with it, but I truly believe he just got tired of being on the defensive all the time. He doesn’t purposely seek out fights or cause press-related scenes anymore. It’s not that the will to be a hot-head has left, because I can assure you it’s still there.  
“’ey, baby brother, get a shot of the crowds here.” Paul drug me out of my thoughts, as he usually does. Also, I really don’t appreciate the ‘little brother’ comment.  
“Don’t call me that. And sure.” I run back up the stairs in the airport to get to the higher floor to capture the expanse of the crowd in the airport. It really is massive, the crowd. I adjust the shutter speed and light on by camera to adjust for the glare on the window from the sun. The few pictures I snapped turned out pretty good, but I’ll have to photoshop them together to get the full expanse of the crowd in one picture. Satisfied, I sprinted back down and out to the car that waited for me. John and Paul had already left, leaving me with Dad.  
“Did you get the crowd?” he asked me.  
“Yeah. It’s bigger than last time. They can’t possibly be getting more famous?” I said more as a statement of disbelief.  
Dad looked at me with a smirk. “I don’t think it’s that.”  
“Then what?” If they’re not getting more famous, then what are all those people doing there? Honestly, I’ve never seen Dad more pensive than he is right now. He’s been proud of us both, but that look is completely new.  
“I’m not sure I can give the right words.”  
To be honest with myself, neither can I. Paul and John are soul mates. They balance each other in a way I’ve never seen before. They’re a phenomenon that I’m not sure anyone will be able to emulate in the years to come. I can’t wait to see where they’ll be, where I’ll be, in the next twenty to thirty years. Either way, I’m always going to be proud of my family. Even my father, because everybody should have a chance to be forgiven.

Paul and I certainly were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it. I really can't. This story has been fun and I'm really happy with how it turned out. Thanks to everyone who stuck with me and were patient in my slow updates. 
> 
> <3 RingosLiverpool8


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